Therapy
by ZombieJazz
Summary: Olivia grapples with her husband's reaction to her pregnancy test results and the implications it has for their relationship. A recast of the therapist office scene in Wednesday's Child. Set in the AU of Olivia/Will/Noah. Story 12 of series.
1. The Session

**Title: Therapy**

**Author: ZombieJazz**

**Fandom: Law & Order: SVU**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them. Law and Order SVU and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The characters of Will (and his family) and Noah have been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

**Summary: Olivia talks to her therapist about her husband's reaction to her pregnancy test results and the implications it has for their relationship. A O/S of the therapist office scene in Wednesday's child.**

**Author's Notes: This AU series is for SVU fans and readers who want Olivia to have something that resembles a more normal life outside of work and a family of her own - hopefully somewhat realistically within the canon of SVU. My stories are not EO and never will be. You may want to read some of my other ones for context on the characters in this AU first - though, it's likely fairly self-explanatory on its own too.**

**SPOILER WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS FOR WHEN ROLLERCOASTER IS COMPLETED. I'VE BOLDED AND ITALICS THE SECTION THAT CONTAINS THE LARGEST SPOILER SO YOU CAN SKIP IT IF YOU WISH.**

"That sounds challenging," Dr. Lindstrom said.

"I can handle the job," Olivia reaffirmed. "I just wasn't prepared for the caretaking. Everybody needs my attention. If I focus on one, then the other acts out."

"The boss is often a parent figure. They may be projecting feelings towards their mothers onto you," the psychiatrist said. Olivia knew she made a face. Or more she paused. She knew she'd been too distracted so far in the session and he'd picked up on that. "What's up Olivia?"

"Nothing," she said instinctively but she sighed. "I wasn't going to mention it. But these last few days I thought I was pregnant." She saw the way he was looking at her. "I held off on taking the test," she clarified.

"Until today?" It was a question but she knew it was a statement of fact.

"It turns out that I'm not," she said. "It's just … umm … I guess I should be relieved, right? Will is."

"Instead of talking about how he feels and how you should feel, can you tell me how you do feel?" Lindstrom pressed. She hated when he did that. But she also knew it was what she was paying him for. The big bucks.

"These last few days … waiting … thinking that door wasn't closed, I … ah … just imagined this whole other life. This … do-over. A fresh beginning," she said and she felt the sting of tears. She hated even more when she cried at their sessions. She hadn't for a few weeks. But it looked like that streak was about to end.

"A do-over?" Lindstrom pressed.

Olivia sighed again and fought to hold back the tears in her already embarrassingly glassy eyes. "I know it's not a good word choice."

"It is if you feel it is the best word choice to describe what you're thinking and feeling," Lindstrom said. "I'd just like to understand what you mean by it."

She shook her head and looked up to the ceiling for a moment. "It's just that … sometimes … I feel like Noah hasn't gotten to have a very normal childhood. I've tried to give him that. But it just hasn't been. Not with his leukemia. And now with all of this …"

"How is Noah doing these days?" Lindstrom asked.

She swiped under her eyes and tried to refocus herself. "He's doing OK. He's strong. Stronger than me I think a lot of the times."

"Or maybe he derives his strength from his mother and by example," Lindstrom suggested. She allowed him a thin smile for that effort but she still felt like she was going to cry and it was hard. "Is still seeing his therapist as well?"

Olivia nodded. "Yeah," she agreed. "He hates it."

Lindstrom made a small face at that comment. "But do you feel it is helping him?"

She shrugged. "I think so. … I hope so."

She swiped at her eyes again and further fought to compose herself. She could feel Lindstrom examining her and felt like she was more under the microscope than she even usually felt.

"Have you and Will talked about expanding your family before this week?" Lindstrom asked gently after giving her a moment.

**_She snorted and shook her head. "Will and I … don't fight. Not really. But the biggest … discussions … arguments … we've had have been around whether we were going to try to expand our family."_**

**_"And Will doesn't want to have another child?"_**

_**Olivia shrugged. "Not really. But it's … more complicated than that. The last time we talked about it … seriously … Noah was still in long-term maintenance and we'd previously said that we weren't going to try until … after he was … better. That we didn't have the time or energy … or money to deal with another child. But … he was doing well and I felt like we were running out of time to try. We were running out of time to try," she sighed. But she shook her head. "But that was just another reason he didn't want to try. Our age. He was so afraid about potential complications it might create for a child … and how hard it would be to deal with a special needs child when Noah already needed us so much. And he's … just … happy with Noah. He loves our family and he loves Noah. And he was so … scared that he'd love the children differently or feel differently about them. Or that … Noah would feel left out."**_

_**"Because he's not your son's biological father?"**_

_**"Yeah," Olivia allowed quietly.**_

_**"So when you and Will were having these conversations, it was you who wanted another child?"**_

_**Olivia gave him a thin smile. "I just … I love my son. For a long time I never even imagined I'd have the chance to have a second child. But … after being with Will … and there being that opportunity," she shook her head. "I grew up as an only child … and Will's family is so … big. I know his relationship with his brothers isn't prefect and I know there'd be an age gap … but then if something happened … when we get older … just knowing Noah wouldn't be alone. I wanted that for him."**_

_**She felt herself tearing again and shook her head. "And it wasn't just that. There were selfish parts too. The … wanting the opportunity to have a child who got a childhood. Getting to be a mom where it didn't involve … doctors and hospitals and chemotherapy. Even just … I love Will. Just getting to see him in a … person we created together. Having the father there during the pregnancy and at the delivery and with the baby. Getting to see and experience and share that. I wanted that for myself too. I wanted it for him. I wanted Will to get to have that and share it with me and a child."**_

_**"When did you last have these conversations? Was it recently?"**_

_**She shook her head and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "This was about two years ago. It's come up since then. But …" She shrugged.**_

_**"So you both ultimately decided not to expand your family?"**_

_**Olivia sighed and gave another little shrug. "Noah got sick again. Our focus shifted back to dealing with the child we had. That's where it needed to be. Where it should be."**_

"Until this week," he offered, "and there was the possibility of a … do-over?"

She gave him a thin smile for that effort.

"It sounds like with where you and Will were at in these previous conversations – that they didn't entirely get resolved. You just had to move on."

Olivia allowed a small nod. "I think that's part of it. It's really brought back some of the discussions and arguments we had around it before. But these last few days." She shook her head and looked at the ceiling again. "When I told him there was even a possibility … he just seemed to distance himself from me. And then today on the phone … just the relief in his voice …"

She felt the tears stinging at the back of her eyes.

"He hurt you," Lindstrom suggested.

She hated the idea of saying Will hurt her but she allowed a small nod. "But he's right. Right now. This would be an awful time for us to be pregnant. Just … the promotion and the stress and … the assault. Where we all are in recovering from that … And we didn't get any younger," she tried to offer as a joke but a choked sob crept out with it and she looked down.

"Are you going to be able to talk to Will about how this week has made you feel?" Lindstrom asked. "Would you like to practice some conversation prompts or what you might like to say to him?"

She shook her head and tried again to tuck away a piece of her hair that was just too short to stay behind her ear. "Will and I aren't communicating very well lately," she admitted. "He's been really shut down since the trial. It was hard on him."

"It was hard on you too," Lindstrom said.

She just allowed a small nod. "He just heard things that … he's struggling with having heard. Or how they were cast. Whether they were true or not."

"Is he still seeing a counselor?" the doctor asked.

"Yes," Olivia allowed quietly but she now was examining the seam of her pants where her knee was resting against the couch.

"I think we both understand that Will shutting down or pushing you away isn't going to help either of you," Lindstrom said.

"I know," Olivia said.

"Are you still going to the couples therapist?" he asked.

Olivia let out a small snort and looked up at him and a little nod. "Yes, we go there too. My family is effectively having our heads shrunk every day of the week."

He gave her a thin smile for the facetious comment. "How's that going? Does Will participate?"

She sighed and went back to the examination of her seam. "Not really lately."

She could feel Lindstrom examining her. "Do you think you both might benefit if we did a few joint sessions here?"

She met his eyes and really shook her head at that. "No," she said quietly. "He doesn't want to come here."

"Why not?" Lindstrom asked.

She shrugged. "He thinks I talk about him and you have … some preconceived opinion of him."

"You really talk about him very little, Olivia," the doctor said. "You haven't mentioned Will more than in passing for the our last several sessions."

She allowed him a small glance at that comment. She tried not to dwell on her family. They weren't the problem. Or that's what she told herself.

"I've learned with you, Olivia," Lindstrom said, "that you often skirt the issue that is really bothering you and try to direct our sessions onto a different topic. That it's not unless I hit on it that you will talk or open up about it. But when I do, I often feel that it's what you really wanted to talk about all along."

"I don't like talking about Will here," she said quietly, "and I know that he doesn't like the idea that I'm talking about him."

Lindstrom nodded. "OK. But these sessions are for you. Not him. And, he's an important part of your life. Your husband. And, you all went through an intensely traumatic experience. Even if he hadn't been victimized in the experience as well, I would expect that this would've had an impact on your relationship and marriage. And, that's worth talking about, Olivia."

She looked at him and let out a slow breath. "I don't know what to say about it."

"You said he's been withdrawn since the trial. How's that manifesting itself at home?"

She sighed and shrugged. "He's just … quiet." She thought for a moment and then looked at him. "Will … bottles a lot of his emotions. We had … problems with it earlier in our relationship. He wouldn't tell me that something was bothering him. He'd keep up a really good front. Then he'd just get … withdrawn. And then … he'd blow up at me. Sometimes he had good reason to. But it's just … he has a temper. I think … he bottled a lot after May. He just … was so focused on Noah and I and trying to piece our family back together. And … I wasn't really there for him and what he went through for a while. And … he bottled. He blew up during the trial. I think he's still coming down from it."

"By pushing you away?"

She shrugged. "Maybe he thinks he's protecting Noah and I."

"So he's distancing himself from your son as well?"

"He's just … quiet," Olivia said again. "He's likely a little depressed. I know he's upset he didn't get approved for sabbatical for this term. I had thought that was better. I was happy he wasn't. I didn't want him sitting around alone at home all day. But maybe that's what he really needed for his recovery."

Lindstrom nodded. "He could talk to his doctor about that. Given what he's been through, anxiety and depression are possibilities. If some time away from work is what he wants, or thinks he needs, he might be able to get a medically-approved leave."

Olivia sighed and shrugged. "That would involve him … talking to people. That's not really happening right now."

Lindstrom looked. "OK. So Will isn't interested in being an active participant in a conversation right now. But would he be willing to listen? Can you express to him your worries about him and his mental health? Can you tell him how all this – his behavior and actions – is affecting you?"

"It just … feels … too complicated right now," she said.

"What's complicated about it, Olivia?"

She sighed even harder and ran her hand through her hair and looked back to Lindstrom. "I guess maybe I feel like Will and I are on different pages right now in our recovery and … with where we want our relationship to be or what we want it to look like."

"Because of his reaction to the pregnancy test?"

She felt the tears sting again and pushed at her hair more. "It's complicated," she managed to get out again without her voice cracking too badly.

"So give me a good challenge," Lindstrom said with a gentle smile. "Try me."

She sighed and shook her head and found herself looking beyond the doctor again and at her favorite spot on the wall. "This is going to sound so stupid," she muttered.

"Stop," Lindstrom said gently. He was always countering her self-censorship and self-criticism.

She gave him a thin smile as she met his eyes. "When I told him I might be pregnant, his initial response was, 'How did that happen?'"

Lindstrom continued his small smile at her. "Maybe we need to expand the parameters of the talk we need to have with Will," he offered.

She allowed the comment to tug slightly at the corners of her mouth. "I know. I had wanted to yell at him, 'You were there. How do you think it happened?'"

Lindstrom allowed a muted chortle at that and allowed her a little nod with the continued smile.

"I never thought I'd have to have the 'is it mine' conversation with my husband. What is it that makes men seem to think they are allowed to always ask that? Or at least apparently the fathers of my children seem to think it's a perfectly acceptable question. Because I must give off some vibe that … what? I don't even know."

"His comment was hurtful," Lindstrom provided the obvious in his continued prompting to try to get her to spill her guts out and she was obliging.

"It was," she allowed with a sigh. "But at the same time I knew it was just … him … and how he is right now … not picking his words very well. Not thinking before he speaks. And, then maybe it was a perfectly legitimate question. I wasn't too sure how it happened either."

"Do I need to have that talk with both of you?" Lindstrom tried, though she could hear the cautiousness in how it put it. He was treading carefully. Weighing if he should proceed by offering a small tease or if he needed to revert back to the seriousness.

"Will and I aren't doing very well in that department either," Olivia said drily and found that spot on the wall again to offer another headshake.

Lindstrom let out a slow breath and looked at her carefully. "Has this come up during your couples sessions?"

Olivia let out a breath. "He definitely doesn't want to talk about that either. Especially at therapy."

"OK," Lindstrom nodded. "If he isn't comfortable talking about it in a couples session, I can get you referred to a sex therapist who can specifically help you address those challenges."

Olivia let out a small laugh. "He definitely won't agree to that," she said and made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "The therapist gave us exercises to try anyways."

Lindstrom nodded again. "And how's that going?"

Olivia sighed and shrugged. "We read them. We sort of tried one. Will and I … that's just … not us."

"If they help Olivia," Lindstrom said gently. "That part of your life is going to be a process in your recovery just as much as everything else."

"It's definitely a process," she said under her breath and then sighed louder. "And … it's a stupid …"

"Stop," he said again.

She looked at him and let out another breath. "It doesn't make sense for me to be frustrated about it, because I'm part of the problem."

"It's not you that's the problem, Olivia," he said firmly. "This is something that takes time after what you've been through. Everyone is different."

Olivia sighed. "Part of me feels … ready … to try to get our relationship back to a more normal place. I … don't know how it will go. Maybe I'm not as ready as I think. But Will's clearly not ready … and since the trial …" she shook her head.

"I'm sure you know that communication is a huge part of a marriage and the couple's ability to maintain their relationship in the bedroom," he said.

"I just … miss what we had," she said quietly and a little embarrassed. She felt so ridiculous talking about this with another man and sharing this part of her life with her therapist.

"But if you are having difficulty communicating right now – for whatever reason – it's going to make re-establishing your sexual relationship with your husband that much harder," Lindstrom said.

Olivia allowed a quiet shake in her breath. "I feel like we haven't even been trying. At least before we were trying. We had intimacy even if we had to stop. He'd … hold me. Now he's just …"

She felt the tears sting again at a level that she knew that they were pressing to come out and she reached up to wipe at them.

"It makes me feel like he heard something there and he's … decided he can't be with me. Or he doesn't want me anymore. I'm damaged," she said quietly.

"Don't catastrophize, Olivia. I can't imagine what Will would've heard there that would convince him of any of those things. He's been with you during this process. He was with you in the hospital following your abduction and assault. He helped care for you in the days and weeks following. He knows what happened physically. Dealing with the mental and emotional aspects can be harder and more hidden – but he's been there so far too."

"It's just with how things have been this month … I don't know how our relationship is going to survive this," she said.

"It sounds like right now both of you need some additional support to help him get over the bump he is at. You'll both have bumps along the way, Olivia. It might cause some loss in progress. But it's also part of the process."

"I don't know," she muttered at a near whisper.

"Has he said something to make you think your relationship is in jeopardy? Or are you basing this entirely on his behavior right now?"

Olivia sighed and just looked at him. She eyes were watering so much she could hardly see him.

"I would have to see Will and talk to you both to give a solid opinion," Lindstrom said. "But my impression is that your husband is a very private person and he has a tendency to internalize. You aren't unlike in that, Olivia. At this point, I wouldn't read much further into his behavior other than he's been through a lot too and he is struggling with his recovery. Maybe he's reached a stalling point or a bottleneck in it for a variety of different reasons. But that's something we can get you resources to help your family through."

Olivia couldn't bring herself to respond. She just sat there trying to keep her emotions in check. The silence drew out to the point of discomfort.

"Unless it's you who is questioning the relationship?" Lindstrom put forward.

"Will's not the kind of man who would leave," she choked out and a tear trickled down her cheek. She swiped at it. "But I don't want him to feel trapped and like he has to stay through this mess. If we aren't working …"

"If you express that to him," Lindstrom suggested, "he may be able to tell you about what he wants and where he is at in the relationship. You deserve to hear that from him, Olivia. Even if you're afraid of what the answer might be."

She shook her head and swiped at another tear. "That's just it. I don't want to hear the answer. Because I can't imagine him not being in my life."


	2. The Couch

**Title: Therapy**

**Author: ZombieJazz**

**Fandom: Law & Order: SVU**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them. Law and Order SVU and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The characters of Will (and his family) and Noah have been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

**Summary: Olivia talks to her therapist about her husband's reaction to her pregnancy test results and the implications it has for their relationship. A O/S of the therapist office scene in Wednesday's child.**

**Author's Notes: This AU series is for SVU fans and readers who want Olivia to have something that resembles a more normal life outside of work and a family of her own - hopefully somewhat realistically within the canon of SVU. My stories are not EO and never will be. You may want to read some of my other ones for context on the characters in this AU first - though, it's likely fairly self-explanatory on its own too.**

Olivia watched Will for a moment. Or at least the back of his head. He was sitting on the couch with his back to her and feet on their coffee table. Laptop on his lap and the television on though running at near muted levels. She could just barely hear the mumblings of the sportscasters from where she stood.

He'd come home late again. She'd heard him come in. The door's alarm chiming as he did. But she was working at getting through listening to Noah read her a chapter of his book and getting him tucked in for the night. She hadn't gone to see him and he hadn't come down to kiss his son goodnight either. Noah, though, he must've heard the door too, also didn't ask for his daddy even as she pulled the door shut to just a crack and switched out the light expect for the nightlight glow. It was telling. So telling where they all were at, she thought.

Will had been making a habit of getting up and leaving before her or Noah woke. He often didn't get home until after dinner – avoiding having to sit with them at the table and to talk about their days and to pretend to be normal. Some nights he got home even later. That week he'd definitely been doing his best to avoid her. Or at least avoid talking to her. She'd hardly seen him and when they had seen each other there really hadn't been much talking.

He'd been using the start of the winter term as an excuse. A justification to be on campus and in his office all hours. It'd left her to take on the bulk of the childrearing duties. Getting Noah up and fed and to school. Meeting him at his after-school program and getting him home and making dinner and helping with homework. Most nights it had been her who'd been encouraging him through their bedtime routine too. It had meant she'd been working banker's hours a lot – to the point that Nick had actually commented on it. Part of her didn't mind that. She didn't want to spend all hours at work. Not anymore. Part of her didn't even mind having to take on the majority of the parenting duties of her son. She liked spending time with him. He brought a stability and meaning to her life and she knew she did the same for him. Noah just clung to her now more than even before when it had just been the trauma of cancer he'd had to deal with. It was just that it was so different from their usual routine. Their usual division of parenting duties. Will usually wanted time with his son and Noah usually wanted time with his daddy. But apparently not right now.

She made herself move towards the couch. It was hard. She still wasn't entirely sure what to say to him or how she wanted to say it – even though Lindstrom had tried to help her frame her thoughts and to organize words to approach it in a way that wouldn't be confrontational. But she wasn't sure now was the right time. Or a good time. But she also wasn't sure there'd ever be a right time or a good time. She could put it off forever.

"Hi," she said quietly as she reached the couch and gave his shoulder a small squeeze as she circled around it. He didn't even glance at her or respond. He just kept staring at this screening and trailing his finger along the trackpad.

"What you working on?" she forced herself to ask despite his initial lack of response, and she forced herself to sit on the couch cushion next to him and look over at the screen, rather than taking the seat that she really wanted on the opposite end.

Will did give her a glance at that. She wasn't sure if it was because she was slightly invading his space or if it was out of surprise that she hadn't commented on the time he'd gotten home. She usually did. Though, she tried not to rag on him about it. She just wanted him to know she'd been noticing and that he was missed. She knew there was some truth to his statements that he was busy with the start of the new term. But that usually only last a couple weeks, not the whole month of January. And, even then, he usually made Herculean efforts to still ensure he spent time with his family. But not right now.

"Just trying to come up with an idea for this week's extra credit question for my datamining class," he mumbled. "Then I'm writing my Calculus I quiz," he added almost defensively and like he was including it as warning that he didn't have time and wasn't interested in talking.

She just nodded and looked at the screen. He had some spreadsheet opened up. It looked like he was on some sort of UNICEF subsite about humanitarian aid in the Middle East.

"Any luck coming up with something?" she asked after a silence hung between them.

He shrugged. "Not really."

It was another response that was so unlike Will. He usually loved when she gave him that chance to talk about work. He loved when she took an interest in it. She'd worked hard over the years to ensure she had enough of a basic grasp of his research and the courses he taught so she could participate in the conversations and not just sit there and listen. But she would listen too – when he got going about something she didn't understand. That he could get so passionate about. Will didn't seem to get passionate about much of anything anymore. Though, she could understand. She didn't feel passion in the same way anymore and when something spurred her on, it came from a different place. Still, it pained her to know that Will didn't want to talk and share. Especially when she could see him looking around a site so clearly about current world issues that were newsworthy. Talking about global issues and current events – sharing the news and their perspectives on it – had been something that had brought them together in the early days of their relationship. Now apparently it was just something to look at for work and not anything he was interesting in discussing. The silence hung between them again.

"I don't even know why I'm even doing it this semester," he finally muttered. "They're lazy asses. None of them have even submitted an answer yet."

She just watched him. Even though it was a muttering his anger was palpable. She didn't think it was anything worth being that upset about.

"Are you putting the correct answers into a raffle again this term?" she asked.

He glanced at her but his eyes were near set in a glare. "Extra credit should be enough," he said with a clear edge to his voice.

She shrugged. "Maybe the potential of winning a prize at the end of the term adds something a little more fun," she suggested.

But his glare stayed stuck on her and she made herself look away and watched the television for several moments.

"What you watching?" she finally asked.

And, she didn't even get a glance. "The Rangers," he said with a clear annoyance by her question. That the answer should've been obvious to her since she was looking at the TV. She ignored it – or she made herself ignore it.

"Who are they playing?" Olivia asked.

He made a sound at that that further depicted his annoyance and gestured at the screen. "St. Louis," he said harshly. It was another obvious answer that should've been clear to her just by looking. And it was. But she just wanted so badly for him to talk to her.

She just nodded and kept her eyes on the screen. She watched again for several minutes and she eventually felt that his eyes had moved away from his computer screen and he was watching too. He made a small sound of distaste as a goal was missed, even though it looked like a pretty spectacular save to her. But by the wrong team.

"We should go to a game," she said after a while. "Do they have a block of faculty tickets this season?"

He gave her a small glance. "I didn't think we'd want to go," he said flatly.

Olivia shrugged. "Sure. Why not? The Rangers games are usually fun. They're doing better in the standings than the Knicks this year, if we had to pick a sport or team to go see."

"Because there'd be crowds and loud, drunk men and the stench of beer," Will stated with a clear matter-of-factness.

Olivia let out a small sight at that. It was true. But she also thought some of that could be worked around based on when they went and who they were playing and where their seats were. And she'd been working a lot on how to control her reactions in some of those situations. She didn't want to spend the rest of her life hiding in their apartment and never doing any of the things their family enjoyed. Lewis kept winning if that's how they let themselves live.

"Well, I'm sure there must be a weeknight where they're playing a shitty team that no one wants to see where there'd be smaller crowds," she suggested. "Aren't there crowd projections and ticket sale figures and stats from previous year's games? Why not have your datamining class figure out what night of the week and team would be the best for us to go to?"

He snorted at that.

"What?" she said. "Not a good idea for an extra credit question?"

He allowed her a small smile. It was the first one he'd given her in at least a week. She returned it. It felt nice. She'd been missing it.

"It's not bad," he allowed.

She nodded and looked back to the television. "See, I'm good for something," she said quietly. It was supposed to be a joke. But at the same time it wasn't. He'd been making her feel like she wasn't good for much of anything in their relationship or marriage lately. It was hard feeling like she wasn't just so far removed from her husband – but from her best friend.

She could feel him looking at her at the comment, like he'd actually allowed himself to pick up on the hurt in her voice. But he made no comment and eventually his eyes drifted back to the TV too. She let them both sit and watch it for a while but she knew that she couldn't just let the conversation – as much as it was one – stop there.

As a commercial break came up and Will pulled his eyes away from the one screen and to the one in his lap instead, she moved her eyes back to him. She watched him again for a moment. He was going to the NHL's site and pulling up some sports statistics pages. It looked like he might actually be taking her suggestion seriously. But she didn't want to let him get too far into it and that much more distracted and removed from her.

"Will," she said almost timidly, "I wanted to talk to you about this week."

He looked up at her and gave her a look that seemed genuinely blank, like he really didn't have the faintest clue what she might be talking about. What she could possibly want to talk about. She gazed at him for a moment trying to measure if it was just a front. But she made herself not ready into it. She made herself be straight-forward and upfront with him.

"The pregnancy test," she filled in for him.

"Oh," he said and looked back to his laptop. "Well, there's not much to talk about. The test was negative."

She sighed and looked down at the small space between them. It was literally just inches but it might as well have been miles. She felt so far removed from him.

"I feel there's a lot to talk about, Will," she pressed, "and I'd really like to have a serious … a real … discussion about it."

He let out a near groan and rolled his head on the backrest cushion and gazed at the ceiling. "I am not going to have a 'let's have a baby' talk right now," he said with near anger in his voice. "This is a ridiculous time to be having a baby. And, if you missed your period … or you're late … or whatever … you should be going to your doctor and talking about menopause, not coming to me with 'let's try to get pregnant'."

Olivia kept her eyes on him though she felt them stinging with tears. The way he was talking to her lately just made her feel like he hated her. Like he couldn't stand to be near here. Like he wasn't interested in even trying to make things work.

"I'm your wife, Will," she finally managed to compose herself enough to get out. "Please don't talk to me like that."

The statement seemed to draw silence from him but he gazed at her. There was a glimmer of surprise in his eyes like he was trying to process her statement and trying to process his and trying to recognize what he'd said wrong. It was like it just wasn't clicking. Not right away.

Olivia let out a shaky breath and reached up and swiped at her eyes trying to divert the tears that she could feel just sitting behind the lens and in the corners.

"How you've been treating me this week has been really hurtful," she managed to get out but even she could hear the tremble in her voice. "Today … on the phone … it really hurt."

Will's eyes seemed to often a bit but he made no move to comfort her and that used to always be his first step. He'd reach for her. That night the distant between them – so small but so large – remained the same.

"It's not a good time to be having a baby, Olivia," he said softly.

She felt the tension in her chest almost reach a choking point. A sob that wanted to come out but she wasn't going to let it. She allowed a little nod.

"I know," she said quietly. "But how you reacted to it made me feel very alone." She got that blank look again. "You seem almost angry with me," she provided, "and you've been … very distant this week. I feel like you've been avoiding me."

He sighed and looked down. His feet coming off the table so he could start that uncomfortable bounce he did with his knee.

"I'm not angry," he finally said. "I just … I don't know how you wanted me to interact with that." He looked at her. There was hurt and upset in his voice. "What would've we done if you were pregnant?"

"We would've figured it out," she offered.

He sighed and his head fell back onto the support cushion again and he gazed at the ceiling. "I don't want to have to figure things like that out," he muttered. "We have too many other things to figure out."

He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest with his knee still shaking. Olivia sat forward a bit and lifted the computer off his lap and put it on the coffee table before he sent it tumbling. He allowed her a small glance at the courtesy.

"I still don't even …" he muttered and shook he head harder. "We shouldn't have even have thought that could be a possibility. When's the last time we had sex? And even when we do … it's not … sex."

Olivia sighed and looked down and rubbed at her eyebrow. It felt like it was just another itineration of 'is it mine', 'it can't be mine', 'did you do this on purpose', 'you're trying to trap me'. But she was trying to hear Lindstrom and not read too much into any of Will's comments. And, for what she did read into them, she was trying not to dwell on the worst possible context, meaning or outcome. She was trying not to let herself catastrophize. She was too good at it anymore.

"It would've been before the trial," she allowed.

She forced herself not to say more yet about that comment. About how much she missed his touch. About how much strength and comfort she got from just being held by him. About how she really wanted to continue to work at re-establishing their sexual relationship. About how much she missed him and their intimacy – no matter how mundane and routine it tended to be. How badly she wanted it back but how scary the process was for her and about how much it hurt her that rather than advancing in trying to return to some sort of normalcy, he'd been retreating from it … and from her.

She let out another slow breath and looked back at him. He was still looking at the ceiling and his knee was bouncing like mad. He hated when they had these kinds of talks. She didn't like having them either. But she hated feeling like she was putting him through such stress and anxiety by talking – to visibly see him shaking like that with his nervous and restless energy and discomfort. But he'd been making her feel uncomfortable for weeks, she reminded herself.

"I feel like you've really be distancing yourself from me since the trial, sweetheart," she tried and she again felt her voice catch a bit and took a beat before pressing forward. "It makes me feel like … you heard something there that you … didn't like …. Are struggling with."

He snorted and rolled his head so he was at least looking at her. But she could see the anger really glinting in his eyes now.

"I heard lots of things I didn't like at the fucking trial," he said. "It was a farce." He sat up straighter and his arms crossed over himself even tighter and it became clear he was trying to protect himself. She wasn't sure if it was from her or from the memory. "The way they let him," he spat, "cross-examine us."

"They had to," she said quietly. "It was his right."

"I don't fucking care," Will spat even harder and his eyes glinted at her more and his one hand came away from himself and pointed at her with just rage. "I hate the way he painted you. He painted me. He painted our relationship. Our whole fucking family. Noah. We were put on display for public humiliation. And then Barba can't even get him on all the fucking charges. The whole thing was fucking ridiculous."

His knee had been bouncing harder and harder while he pushed that anger out of him. It reached that point that was his words fell silent and and his eyes set straight ahead that Olivia let her hand come out, like she had so many times before, and put it on his knee, putting pressure and holding it there until the nervous movements slowed and stopped.

"Are you done?" she asked quietly and he just let out a noise that still sounded slightly disgusted. She sighed. "The system doesn't always work, Will …"

"Well, I fucking know that," he spat again.

"At least he went away on the assault and kidnapping charges," she said.

"Yeah, but apparently there was no attempted murder or rape," Will muttered. "Somehow I missed that when my face was being kicked in or anytime I see …" he just gestured down his chest to where her scar was from when Lewis had trailed his knife down her sternum. It likely wouldn't have killed her. But he'd done enough to her – including shoving a gun down her throat - she was surprised she was alive too some days. Some days it was hard to be alive too.

"I wasn't raped," she provided, almost in defense. She knew he knew and she hated that she had to remind him. It made her feel like he didn't believe her. Despite all the evidence. Despite the rape kit.

"Right," Will muttered. "He just 'sexually played' with you," he said and did the air quotes this is hands before wrapping his arms back around himself. "And that doesn't count, right …?"

Olivia sighed and looked down at the couch cushions again. "He didn't rape me," she said again.

Will looked at her. "But he touched you. I know he touched you. I can see it all over your body. You hardly let me touch you. He fucking touched you."

"You are having trouble letting me touch you too," she said quietly, though she couldn't bring herself to look at him.

"Yeah, but we both knew why. I got to hear his version of events played out in a fucking courtroom full of people. Him making you say … such … bullshit."

She felt the tears stinging again and let out a shaky sigh. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. His knee was bouncing again.

"Tell the fucking jury to be sorry. And the judge who let that shit go on. And Barba. And the whole fucking NYPD while you're at it. They can … they should … all be fucking sorry."

She let out another staggered breath and forced herself to look up at him. She forced herself to try to keep the tears in.

"I know that … right now … after the trial … and with all this … you're having trouble being around me. And, I really do understand, Will. So I just want you to know … it's OK if you … need out of here … or out of this. I don't blame you," she said. But the tears started running down her face and she reached up and wiped at them. It didn't help. More kept on coming.

"What?" Will stuttered out at her.

He was finally actually looking at her and he looked stunned. Really stunned – not that questionable blank look from before. The confusion and outright terror that was painting across his face was almost sending her in a panic too and she felt her chest starting to tighten and almost shake with the sobs she didn't want to impair her ability to speak.

"I don't want you to feel trapped," she did sob though. "I just … I know this is a mess. I'm a mess. We're a mess. These past eight months have been hell, Will. But this past month with … without you … it's unbearable. But I can't keep living like this. With you here but not here. I don't think you want to be here. And I don't blame you. I love you. But I don't know what to do anymore. And I can't keep … doing … this. So … don't feel like you have to stay … for me … . Because I'll be fine, Will. It's OK."

Will gapped at her and started shaking his head madly. "That's not OK," he protested and his head kept shaking until his own tears started rolling down his cheek. "No. That's not OK," he stuttered again.

And, finally he reached and pulled her to him. Those inches closed and for the first time in weeks she felt her husband's arms go around her and found her head finding his shoulder and the crook of his neck. She was shaking with her cries but he was shaking so badly too she was having trouble distinguishing where each of their sobs began and ended.

"I'm not leaving," he sobbed. "I'm not. I haven't even thought of that. Please don't be thinking like that."

"Will …" she sobbed into his shoulder. "You already feel gone. You … won't talk to me. You won't touch me. You hardly look at me. I … feel … like … you hate me. You can't stand me. … Or to be around me."

He held her tighter. His grip almost became crushing and his damp cheek fell against the hair on the top of her head. He rubbed his there and she could feel him shaking more. His breath quivering through her hair and his teeth chattering as he tried to find some sort of composure – unsuccessfully.

"It's not that," he finally managed to push out in staggered breaths. "It's not any of that. I'm just … I feel … so … fucked up right now … and I just don't … know how to deal with it. Or what to do. I just … I don't know what's happening. I'm sorry. But I'm not leaving, Liv. I love you. I'm not going anywhere."


	3. The Bedroom

**Title: Therapy**

**Author: ZombieJazz**

**Fandom: Law & Order: SVU**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them. Law and Order SVU and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The characters of Will (and his family) and Noah have been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

**Summary: Olivia talks to her therapist about her husband's reaction to her pregnancy test results and the implications it has for their relationship. A O/S of the therapist office scene in Wednesday's child.**

**Author's Notes: This AU series is for SVU fans and readers who want Olivia to have something that resembles a more normal life outside of work and a family of her own - hopefully somewhat realistically within the canon of SVU. My stories are not EO and never will be. You may want to read some of my other ones for context on the characters in this AU first - though, it's likely fairly self-explanatory on its own too.**

"You took your migraine medication," Olivia commented quietly.

She was lying against her husband's chest, his skin soft and warm. She could hear the slow beat of his heart but with each of his shallow breaths she could also hear a catch and a wheeze. At her comment she heard him make a noise but he didn't respond beyond his arm moving slightly and gripping a bit more at her shoulder. She knew he hated that she was attuned to his migraines. She had been before. She'd learned to recognize it in changes of his complexion and eyes even when he managed to keep his temperament in check through his suffering. But since Lewis and the addition of new medications to her husband's life, it was almost too easy to notice when he had one. The side effects of the drugs gave it away even when he'd managed to hide his pain.

"Yeah … well … I was crying," he finally said quietly. "That doesn't do good things for my head."

There wasn't an accusation to it. It was more a statement of facts. Though, it a way it made Olivia feel a little guilty for the conversation too. She hated Will's migraines to begin with. She hated them even more since Lewis kicked his face in. The frequency and intensity of them concerned her and she hated to be added as yet another contributing factor to their onset. But it was a conversation that had had to be had.

She wasn't sure how much of a conversation it had really been. They'd both managed to get some things out. At least they both established how much they were hurting and struggling. Though, she wasn't really sure they resolved much. Or anything. She supposed she could at least stop worrying that Will might be considering leaving their family. Or that he was secretly wanting to but couldn't bring himself to. That would hopefully help her stability and mental state on some level. But if they'd resolved anything beyond that? She wasn't so sure.

They'd done a lot of crying and just holding each other. Eventually the tears and the interjected back-and-forth statements had stopped. They'd stared at the television screen even though she knew neither of them were watching. They were just sharing space with each other at that point and occasionally still sniffing or choking on a sob or reaching to wipe at their eyes, which illustrated far too much that they were both still thinking. Eventually she'd said she should go to bed. That the case they caught at work was going to keep her busy for the next few days. That she needed to rest. Will hadn't verbally acknowledged that statement either but he had gotten up when she'd risen and followed her into the bedroom too. He'd then let her cuddle against him when he'd lay down and she still struggled to find the stability and comfort she'd been missing at home.

As there as he was, though, he still felt so distant. Not quite as distant as before but it still didn't feel like he'd come home. It still felt like she'd done more talking than him and that he hadn't been able to accurately explain to her what was going on with him. She supposed that there probably wasn't an accurate way to explain it. But that didn't make things any easier.

She was telling herself that how Will was being right now was just her husband. That at least she'd gotten her upset and her struggles out there. At least she'd heard from him that he was struggling too and it wasn't anything specific that she'd done that was causing it. Now Will would need time to process that and interact with it and form his thoughts. She had to trust that – like always – he'd come back to her ready to talk more. That he'd want to talk more. Or at all. She just had to give him time.

Time anymore was such a struggle. The process felt like it was taking too long and like it was too hard. Just as she thought her family was making process, the trial had come up and set them so far back in so many ways. Cragen leaving and the added responsibility at work combined with other things that were going on in the personal lives of their squads. Amaro and Rollins weren't giving her the leeway to have room to fall apart because they were doing good jobs at letting their lives fall apart. Then this pregnancy scare and everything it had made her think about. The start of Will's new term. This never-ending cold winter of storm after storm after storm causing the grey to huddle in the sky and the temperatures to drop to the point that she felt more trapped and confined to the apartment than they already were. Some days it just felt like too much to handle. More than any of them could handle. It just felt unfair. But then even thinking that she felt like she was letting self-pity start talking. It could be so much worse, she told herself. Yet, some days, she didn't know how much worse or how much harder it could get. How much more her and her family could carry.

"You haven't said if that new medication is helping," she tried.

It was on the list of things that Will hadn't talked to her about that month. He hadn't seen the need for her to go to any of his medical appointments with him lately but also only gave her the answer 'fine' when she asked how'd they gone and 'not much' when she asked what the doctors had said.

"I don't know," Will said quietly after enough of a silence that she thought he was going to ignore her statement. "I guess. But I don't like it. It makes me feel like I'm living under this fog. Half the time I feel like I can't think straight."

She moved her hand up and gripped at his shoulder with that comment and placed at light kiss against this chest. She heard his breath wheeze and catch again.

"That won't be helping things right now," she told him softly.

"I know," he agreed at a near inaudible level.

"Have you talked to him about that?"

"He says I have to make a choice about what's more important to me. Dealing with the headaches or managing the pain or … whatever." The hurt in his voice was evident and that time Olivia felt more of a silenced sob than the tell-tale wheeze of his medicated breathing.

She looked up at him and lifted her hand up to stroke his cheek. It was stubbly. He hadn't been shaving lately. Will had this few day window when he stopped shaving where his stubbled growth looked dignified even if it was a little rumpled professor. But he'd long ago passed that grace period and degraded to the full-on hobo look that she hated on him. Olivia had restrained herself from commenting, though. It wasn't like she had much to complain about. He wasn't kissing her much these days for the sparse beard to have irritated her skin. And, it wasn't like she did too much in terms of keeping up her appearances either. But she was doing better than Will. The facial hair growth was just another sign that he was letting the depression take hold. Or maybe it was his way of altering his appearance in the aftermath of the humiliation of the trial. And, she didn't feel she could really comment on that either. He hadn't said anything when she'd cut her hair.

"That's an unfair choice, sweetheart," she told him.

She didn't like that they were separating the two even though she knew that part of the pain Will was now experiencing wasn't related to the headaches. She still didn't think it was fair for him to have to choose. She wished the doctors could figure out a way to better manage the headaches, the pain, the light sensitivity, the nausea and the anxiety and depression that was leaving her husband a shadow of the man she'd known. She wished that it could be managed in a way that didn't leave him so drugged that he couldn't be a husband or a father or a teacher. It all just made her so sad and frustrated. She knew it was making him sadder and must be even more frustrating for him.

"He said there's some migraine drug I can try that used to be used as an anxiety med. The migraine doses are lower than what the mood adjustment dosages would have been. But he said it might have some positive affects too."

She allowed a small nod. "Are you going to try it?"

She felt him shrug. "I haven't decided yet. I hate them switching the pills around all the time."

"They're just trying to find something that works for you, Will," she assured. "This one doesn't seem to."

He just made another small noise and they fell silent again.

"I wish you'd let me come to some of the appointments with you," she said quietly.

"I don't need you to hold my hand, Olivia," he said with that touch of annoyance in his voice again. "I'm capable of going to my medical appointments by myself."

"I know …" she allowed. "But maybe I could help advocate for you. Sometimes you don't do a very good job at advocating for yourself …"

She felt a glare into the top of her head and looked up to see a glint in his eyes. "I know how to take care of myself."

She kept his eyes even though she felt so spent she just wanted to look away. She didn't want to argue with him or press him. But she also felt like she had to. Like she couldn't drop it.

"No," she pushed back at him. "You do a good job at taking care of your students. You do an even better job at taking care of me and of Noah. But you do not do a very good job at taking care of yourself, Will. You never have. Especially when it comes to medical things. Especially your headaches."

He just made a noise and moved his eyes away from her. She let him and didn't press it further. Let it be another thing for him to ponder in the fall out from their conversation. At least this was something they'd discussed before. Maybe it would stick with him this time.

"I just don't like to see you suffering," she said at a whisper and then let the silence take over the room again.

Even in that dead quiet, Olivia knew she wasn't likely going to sleep. Not restfully. She almost wished she'd gone and lay down while she was still crying. Maybe the tears would've let her drift. Now she would likely have a light sleep all night that would be rocked by her continued processing of thoughts in trying to reconcile her marriage and her family and her life.

Maybe she should just get back up and take a sedative, she thought. But much like Will hated his pills – she hated the sedatives and how they made her feel. She resisted taking them, though sometimes she needed them. Sometimes she thought she'd never really sleep ever again if she didn't take them. Not that a sedated sleep ever let you wake truly feeling like you had slept.

"Would you reconsider going to see Dr. Lindstrom with me?" she finally asked. She could tell he wasn't sleeping yet either – or even trying - and she didn't think she'd get anywhere near it if she didn't ask.

Will let out a slow sigh. "I don't know," he said. "I don't really want to."

"I know …" Olivia allowed. "But would you do it for me? For us?"

He sighed harder and was quiet for far too long. She again thought he wasn't going to answer.

"Why isn't Alison enough?" he said finally of their couple's therapist.

She rubbed her cheek against his chest for a moment. "You haven't really been talking there lately. Maybe we'd do better with Dr. Lindstrom. He's willing to see us. I think you'd like him."

The quiet hung again and she could an increase in his heart rate. She was winding him up again. She didn't really want to do that. But she also didn't want their conversation on the couch to fade into the background and for them to pretend that that had been enough by the time they got up in the morning. Because it hadn't been. Not at all.

"I'm glad you like him," Will said quietly. "And I'm glad he's working for you. But I really don't want to see your shrink, Liv …"

She sighed and lay against him. She could feel a few stray tears trickle out of her eyes and she knew he must few them hot against his chest but he said nothing. Though his hand remained in its type grip against her shoulder. So there was that. At least he wasn't entirely retreating, which seemed to be his defense mechanism anymore.

"I'm worried about us, Will," she said. "I really don't think we're going to be able to work through this on our own. Not with the way we are. We need help and support to get through this. That's hard for me to admit too. But we do."

"We have Alison," he countered with a quiet forcefulness.

"I don't really feel like that's been working for us right now …" Olivia said.

Will sighed. "OK. I'll try … to participate more," he said.

Olivia let out her own slow breath. "OK," she allowed.

But she wasn't really sure she believed him. Though, she supposed they could go to a few more sessions and see. But a few more sessions would be a few more weeks of … wherever they were at now. She wasn't really sure she wanted to do that. But she didn't think pressing him further on that particular issue was going to yield much more.

"Will …" she decided to push out anyways, though. "… Then … how would you feel about us going to a sex therapist for a few sessions? Just to … see …"

He let out a sigh. "Olivia," he near whined. She knew how he felt about it.

"I'd like to," she said a little more meekly than she'd meant to.

He made another sound. "I thought we were going to sleep," he said flatly. "That's why I came to bed."

She just looked at him. Catching his eyes in the near dark room that was never really dark anymore. Much like Noah they had a nightlight on at all times now and the door to their en suite was always open and with the light left on at all hours too. She knew he could see her just as well as she could see him. She hoped he could see the pleading there even though she hated to beg. Begging just made her think of other things. Bad things. She didn't want to have to beg her husband for relief from the hell they were in.

"I don't want to go to a sex therapist," he said quietly and flatly.

"I don't particularly want to either," she said, just relieved he'd responded. She'd almost thought he was going to push her aside and get up and leave the room. That any progress they'd made that night would be cast aside in an instant. That Will would prove again how much he wasn't handling things and just how unwilling he was to try and she'd again be left wondering if they were working, if he was really saying what he was thinking. How they were going to get through this? "But I think maybe we need to."

The sound came again. "If we just thought we were pregnant, I don't think we need to," he said and there was a tone to it that hurt her.

She sat up a bit and looked at him more directly. He gazed at her. There wasn't anger in his eyes but there was a clear discomfort.

"That was before the trial, Will," she said. "Since then you've hardly touched me and it's making me feel like after hearing the testimony there you feel like I'm tarnished in some way."

He made another noise and looked away from her. "That's not how I feel," he said.

"When we were talking before you seemed very upset that he touched me," she put back to him.

Will's eyes snapped back to her. "He violated you," he said more firmly.

The venom that came rattled out of him with that statement stung. She knew he hadn't meant it to though. She tried to keep it in perspective, though. She tried not to feel the sting of tears or the drive to withdrawal from it again.

"He did," she finally made herself agree. "But that wasn't my fault and it wasn't yours."

Will made another sound that sounded like he was on the merge of tears again and his eyes drifted from her and found the wall.

"I don't want to talk to some … stranger … about our private, personal lives in our bedroom, Olivia," he said quietly.

She sighed and let herself lay back down next to him and massaged at his shoulder and then his bicep.

"I miss us, Will," she said. "And it's not just the sex I miss. I miss the intimacy. I miss … little bits of it. I miss … how you'd measure your hands against mine and …" she shook her head. There were so many other touches and caresses that he did that she was still so scared to explore for so many other reasons. But that she longed for in so many other ways. "You used to smile so much and … the way you smiled at me when we made love … and your eyes. You used to tell me you loved me all the time … to the point it was annoying," she said and gave him a small nudge so he looked at her and he allowed a thin smile. He knew he did it. Before it had been something she'd told him he didn't need to say quite as much in the midst of things. But now she just wished he'd say it at all. "I miss things like that. It's not just that … we're struggling. It's that when we … try … it's not you … and I feel like we both feel so scared and mechanical. I don't like that."

He sighed but he was at least looking at her again. But he looked so sad. "Alison gave us those … exercises," he said.

Olivia nodded. "She did. But we didn't really give them a chance …"

His eyes drifted and his nostrils flared. "They're so stupid."

"I think maybe we should give them a chance," Olivia suggested. "We should go into it with a more open mind."

"We don't need to learn how to touch each other," he muttered. "We know how to touch each other."

"Our bodies and our heads need to relearn, Will," she said. "I know mine does. We need to relearn what works for us."

"We don't need a sex therapist to do that," he said quietly. "We've worked through … stuff … before."

Olivia sighed. She felt the tears coming on even with trying to find a way to express this. What it was making her think about hurt so much. She already hated having to think about it at all. She hated how it crept into her daily life. How she could be waiting for the kettle and pouring a cup of tea and he was there. Lewis was there. Popping up in her mind's eye and taunting her. She hated more when he popped up into her sexuality and into her time with her husband. She hated that on the long list of things Lewis had robbed from her family (Noah's innocence being at the top), that her intimacy with her husband and best friend was on the list.

"This is different, Will. It's … really different. He did touch me … in … very different ways than Sealview. And it was … a much … longer … experience. It was a different kind of trauma. I was OK before with the progress we were making. I thought we were trying and we were making progress. But we aren't right now and it's hard for me because I feel like I'm in a place where I'm … more ready for us to … be exploring and reestablishing that part of our relationship. I … want us … to be having … more intimate time together. Not less. We aren't having any lately, Will. I miss kissing you," she offered more gently and swiped at hear eyes again. She'd managed to not cry. But just barely.

He looked at her his eyes were so sad. "Can't we just talk to Alison about this too?"

"I don't think you're very comfortable talking to Alison about it," she said.

"I'm not going to be comfortable talking to anyone about our sex lives, Liv," he said at a whisper.

"It's not talking about our sex lives," she countered. "It's … talking about … how we can be a healthy couple and functional people again. Alison is more about communication. This is too … but … I think maybe … we might both be more comfortable if we went and talked to … someone who … helps … rape survivors."

"You weren't raped," he repeated back to her from earlier.

"No …" Olivia allowed. "But I was sexually assaulted … and so were you."

He did look at her and tears were rolling down his cheeks again with that comment. She suddenly wondered if it had been framed quite that way for him before. She hoped that his therapist would have. That someone had given him permission to see it that way. But maybe she wasn't supposed to see it that way. Maybe he struggled to remove himself from him. He struggled with even his victimization, she knew. He likely struggled more when Lewis had set her up to be the one sexually invading her husband. It was a betrayal and victimization of both of them. It hurt her to think about all the different layers of what had gone on in that bedroom. What her husband and son had had to go through and witness. The role she'd been forced to play in all of that. She struggled with being able to forgive herself.

She reached and touched his cheeks again and this time wiped away the tears for him.

"We aren't broken, Will," she assured him. "We just need some help. We need to be more open minded about it and more willing to … work with the process."

"So what?" Will said and his voice cracked and he looked away from her. "You want me to go and tell your shrink that I can't get it up? That you think I'm not attracted to you anymore?"

She looked at him and then tapped his cheek and gave it a little pull until he was looking back at her. Tears were running freely down his face again. She shook her head at him.

"Will, sweetheart …" He tried to pull his eyes away from her again but she held her hand tight. "Hey," she said. "That's not how I meant it. That's not how … I'm interacting with this in my head. I think … it … bothers you … that another man touched me." She choked on a sob and looked at him. "It bothers me," she provided.

His eyes softened and he reached and pulled her back to him, putting a small kiss on her forehead and stroking her hair. She let herself settled against him again and to just feel him embrace.

"I understand Will that your … erections," she said after deciding that using impotence might aggravate him again even if that was what it should be called, "are because of what happened. So maybe talking about what happened will … help. I don't know if you've been reading the list of side effects of some of these medications they have you on too. But I have and some of them say a side effect is loss of erection, sweetheart. So … maybe you should mention it to your doctor. He might be able to help or find something different for you."

"Or give me another pill …" Will muttered.

"We both know that kind of pill isn't what either of us wants or needs right now, Will. That's not what I'm asking of you. I think we should try … talking … first," she said.

"We have been talking …" he said quietly.

"Will, we haven't," she said. "I feel like all our progress just stopped. I feel like we're sliding backwards. We're in a rut or a bump or something. If we don't get over it …" she shook her head and felt the tears again. "Will you please just come to Dr. Lindstrom with me?"

"He's not a sex therapist," Will said flatly. He sounded distant.

"He's not," she agreed. "But he said if he could meet you and get an impression of you …"

"Haven't you told him enough to give him that?"

She looked up at him. "I don't talk about you, Will," she said. "Not much." She gazed at him for several moments while he seemed to consider that. "Do you talk about me?"

He shrugged under her and his eyes drifted up to the ceiling. "I don't know. I talk about what happened. And what happened while you were gone."

She watched him. "You don't talk to me about what happened while I was gone," she said.

"You don't talk about what happened while you were gone with me either," he said. "Not really."

Olivia wanted to tell him that he was wrong. But for as many details as Will did know, she also knew she didn't talk about it. She didn't want to talk about it. She knew a lot of the more gruesome details he'd gotten at doctor's appointments and at the trial. A lot of the emotional details of what she'd gone through she was still learning how to talk about and express to him. Some of them she didn't want to ever have to. She didn't want him to have to grapple with them too.

"Dr. Lindstrom says that if he talks to us together," she changed the subject, "he'd be able to have a better understanding of where we are at and what we both want to achieve and need and he'd be able to refer us to someone who could help us."

"So you've talked about this with him?" Will said almost accusingly.

She gave him a sad look. "Not in detail, Will," she said. "Just that we're struggling. That I'm struggling with where we are. We don't have to go into … details … about our sex life with him either. I'd prefer we didn't. I still have to see him and that's not an area I want to talk to him about either."

"It's just … more public humiliation …" Will said at a whisper and she felt that catch in his chest again that felt more like a quieted sob than the medicine.

"Please, Will," she almost begged again. "Think about it. I don't want to turn into one of those couples who almost never has sex and has some sort of rhetoric about how our relationship is about more than sex. And with how we're communicating and how we're connecting right now, I feel like … that's where we're headed. That's not where I want to be."

"Our relationship is about more than sex," Will pushed out.

Olivia sighed against him. "And, I might be OK with that statement if we were … working outside the bedroom. But it's not just our sex lives that are off the rails …"

"You're struggling having sex too," he cut her off. "More than me."

She let out a sigh. "That's likely true," she allowed, though in some ways she wasn't sure it was entirely true. They both were having different struggles that weren't exactly comparable but she didn't want to have a pissing match about it. "But I want my sex life back, Will. At this point – I want it back. That's something I want us to actively be working on. I know it's going to be hard," her voice cracked. "But I'm willing to put in the effort. I want to. I miss sex and I miss you. So much."

"You keep talking like I'm gone or going somewhere," he said. "I'm not. I'm right here."

"Will … you aren't here. You're never here anymore."

He let out a slightly aggravated breath. "I told you," he said with that harsh edge again, "I'll do better a coming home on time. For dinner. I'll pick up Noah tomorrow so you can focus on work."

Olivia let out a shaky breath. "It's not just that, Will. I'm really worried about you. I think you're depressed …"

"How can I be depressed?" he said. "I'm medicated. We're all fucking medicated. Out of our heads."

"You aren't making time to do things you used to enjoy," she put flatly at him, trying to ignore his previous comment.

He looked at her. "Like what?" he said as almost a challenge.

She met his eyes. "On quiet nights you used to ask to play cards or a board game," she suggested.

He rolled his eyes. "It's the start of term. I'm busy. You're busy with the fucking promotion."

The way he put it stung. She fought to keep it in check. She knew Will was proud of her. He was proud of the promotion. He felt she was deserving of it. He just hadn't anticipated the workload or that it would be added to her at this time. Neither had she. It was proving difficult for all of them. It was an added layer to them trying to cope that they hadn't expected. Where the extra work was distracting in a way, in other ways it was added stress to the point that some days it felt overwhelming.

"You used to ask Noah to play then. Not always me," she contended. "You used to look forward to playing with Noah at all. He's missing you too."

"I just have been busy with work. I haven't been home in time to play Lego for three fucking hours. He'll get over it."

She wanted to scream at him that Noah wouldn't get over it. That Noah felt that something was wrong too. That Noah was distancing himself from Will because Will was distancing himself from the family. That Noah didn't need to retreat more from the world than he already was. That their little boy was hurting and missing his daddy. That Will was being incredibly selfish in allowing himself to be blind to that.

"You aren't keeping up with our training schedule," she provided instead.

"Just because I'm not training with you, doesn't mean I'm not training," he put to her almost too harshly. "We have a treadmill and a stationary bike, Olivia. Use them whenever you want. You don't have to wait around for me. It's too fucking cold and slippery to be going outside this winter anyways."

She sighed. The triathlon had been his idea. It'd been something she'd agreed to for the distraction and to get to spend time and share an experience with him. She thought it would help their healing process – not just hers. But she'd thought they'd been in it together and instead it'd be added to the list of things that he'd tossed aside since the trial. Another thing she'd been left alone in.

"I'm worried about you, Will," she just provided quietly and made herself look away from him.

He didn't respond and the silence hung again.

"I think I should ask your parents to take Noah for the weekend," she said. "So we can have some time … alone … to … talk."

"Noah won't like that," Will said flatly.

Olivia shrugged from where she was now lying next to him and not against him. "I'll talk to him. He'll understand. He understands more about what's going on than you think."

"He shouldn't have to understand," Will pushed out and there was again a visible catch in his voice as he cracked and he made a sucking sound against a quiet sob.

"He shouldn't have to," Olivia agreed. "But he does. I'll talk to Karen. Maybe her and Rob can take him for a night instead. Invite him over for Clue. He'll like that idea – especially if it's an invitation rather than me sending him."

"I'd prefer to be playing Clue," Will said quietly.

Olivia rolled her head and looked at him. He was staring at the ceiling so motionless.

"I thought you were too busy for board games?" she offered as a small tease.

"It sounds better than … talking," he said quietly and gave her a sad look.

She gave him her own frown. "It doesn't have to all be talking, Will," she said more gently. "We just … haven't spent any time together for a while. We haven't had any alone time. We can just … go out for brunch or for a walk … or something. Just … talk. Spend time together."

Will just kept staring at the ceiling without comment and Olivia forced herself to re-establish the contact with him, rolling onto her side again and letting her hand find his shoulder and her cheek find his chest.

"We could get a hotel room," she suggested softly. "Pretend like we're having a weekend away. Get room service. Stay in bed."

"Depressed people stay in bed all day," Will said.

She looked up at him and gave him a thin smile and put a small kiss against his chest.

"OK, then we can stay in bed and talk through our depression for the weekend," she said.

He made a sound. "We can't leave Noah," he said quietly.

"He'll be OK with your parents," she said. But she felt him shake his head. She let out a little sigh and squeezed his shoulder. "We could stay in the honeymoon suite?" she suggested.

The loft above Tom's garage had actually been redone since their wedding night. Tom had been working on it before the assault on her family but after they'd basically moved in with Will's parents, his brother had gone into double-time on it. It looked far better now than on their 'honeymoon'. The bed was much more comfortable now that it wasn't a sagging mattress from the 1970s too. Tom had meant for it to be a place that her and Will could retreat to and have some private space away from his parents. But they really hadn't been ready to be away from Noah yet when they'd been living out on Staten Island and Noah certainly wasn't ready for them to be more than in the next room either. So it hadn't gotten much use beyond all three of them occasionally going up there to watch a movie in bed together or just to have some family time out of Ted and May's earshot and line of vision.

At the suggestion now, though, Will made an aggravated noise and brought his hands up and shoved the heels into his eyes.

"My family is going to know something is going on if we do that. Any of it. Asking them to take Noah. Spending a weekend at their place. Going to a hotel. It doesn't matter. They'll know."

Olivia squeezed his shoulder and sat up a bit, pulling his hands away from his eyes so she could see them. They were so watery and bloodshot.

"Will, they know something is going on already. They want to help. Let them help. Please. You've got to let someone help us at this point. For our family."


	4. The In-Laws

**Title: Therapy**

**Author: ZombieJazz**

**Fandom: Law & Order: SVU**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them. Law and Order SVU and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The characters of Will (and his family) and Noah have been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

**Summary: Olivia talks to her therapist about her husband's reaction to her pregnancy test results and the implications it has for their relationship. A O/S of the therapist office scene in Wednesday's child.**

**Author's Notes: This AU series is for SVU fans and readers who want Olivia to have something that resembles a more normal life outside of work and a family of her own - hopefully somewhat realistically within the canon of SVU. My stories are not EO and never will be. You may want to read some of my other ones for context on the characters in this AU first - though, it's likely fairly self-explanatory on its own too.**

The sounds of car doors slamming outside the house echo through the quiet residence and Ted looked up from where they were just beginning to set up the Clue board with Noah. He cast his wife a look but found her already staring at him with the sound, concern painted across her face.

"I'll check," he said quietly and rose from the table.

It was far too soon for his son and daughter-in-law to be returning to the house. But based on what he'd seen when they'd dropped off his grandson, he wouldn't be surprised if they'd just come back. He almost wouldn't be surprised if they hadn't done much more than drive around the block. They'd sat out in the car for long enough. He'd started to think they weren't going to even get out of the driveway but the car had finally started and the headlines had cast a long shadow through the living room as they backed out and drove away. That hadn't been that long ago, though. Not according to his watch anyways. Though, he got the impression that the minutes might be dragging on forever in the eyes of that couple lately – and not in a good way.

He'd seen it from the moment his son had stepped into the house. William had been near silent while Olivia worked to get Noah settled. He'd taken off his boots to step on his mother's floors but had left on his coat. There'd barely been a pep from him. Little more than a greeting and he seemed reserved even in accepting a peck from his mother and the firm grip of his handshake and half-hug. But if Willie's silence hadn't said enough, his appearance had. It looked like the boy hadn't shaved in weeks and like he hadn't bothered to comb his hair before making their way home. It went far beyond any hat head he might've conjured up on the way over. His eyes looked sunken and tired and his posture was slumped – his hands shoved into his pockets. He looked more like a sulky kid than the professional man and husband and father that Ted had come to expect from his youngest.

But Ted had known something was wrong from the moment that Olivia had called to request a Friday night visit. A Friday night visit was unusual for them. William and Olivia usually came over on a Saturday if they were going to stay overnight and otherwise didn't make the trek until Sunday. But, as unusual as a Friday night visit might be, his son and daughter-in-law certainly didn't need to ask to come over. They were always more than welcome. Their door was always open and even when it was locked – they had a key and could come and go as they pleased. Olivia knew that, though Ted had expressed it to her again. By all means, they could come over and it was never a problem for them to spend time or watch over their grandson. That's what they were there for. That's what he and May relished as grandparents.

What really had been unusual, though, was that it was Olivia who'd done the calling. That was a sign that something was brewing. As close as they'd gotten to their daughter-in-law and as much as they assured her she could call and come over and that it didn't need to be their son who initiated it (or even had to attend in conjunction with her), it was generally William who put in the phone calls to let them know they were coming over for a visit. It was William who sent them emails and phoned just to say hello. Though, those calls and emails hadn't been coming much lately either, which had also been telling.

Really, the signs that their son and daughter-in-law were struggling had been there most of the month, as far as Ted was concerned. On their usual Wednesday visits, William hadn't been showing up after work. He hadn't even been showing up for dinner. He'd waltzed in just as his wife and mother were clearing the table – knowing that he and May always left after the meal. There'd been no time for a visit or chat. After two weeks of that, Olivia had again been the one who'd called them. That time she'd said that things were just busy and she didn't when everyone would be home, so it just didn't make sense for them to come over. Ted always hated that excuse: that they were busy. It just didn't make sense to him. It was on the busy weeks that he and May should be going in to help them the most. It was the times they could most use some help around the apartment or a hand getting some errands done or groceries picked up or meals left in the fridge and freezer. And, he was loath to think about what had happened the last time William had told them not to come in to help on a Wednesday. But they'd begrudgingly listened to her request. Gave them their space.

Giving Willie and Olivia their space anymore was even harder than it had been before. Now it seemed almost intolerable that they couldn't personally check in on them daily – especially after they'd lived with them for three months and they could monitor near every bit of their waking moments. Even though they were grown – more than grown, parents themselves – there was still this biological imperative that told him he should be taking care of them and watching over them. That was hard to do know that they were back to trying to live their own lives. It didn't matter how safe their apartment or building or neighborhood seemed. It didn't matter how much he knew Olivia's squad had her back. Or how good of parents her and William were to Noah. Ted worried. Now he worried more than he had in a long time for any of his children. And, just as it seemed like that worry might be plateauing into acceptance of some way, shape, or form – things just seemed to shift and now his worry was mounting again.

Sometimes he just wished they'd move back out to Staten Island. Sometimes he couldn't understand why they didn't just get a house or apartment there – with their family – in the first place. Sometimes he wished that he and May could afford to get something closer to them because that's was where they were needed right now. Or that somehow it would make sense for them to just move in with his son and daughter-in-law. To help in all of this. Though, he knew them crowding their space wouldn't be any help in the long run. William was his own man – and Olivia her own woman. They didn't need Mom and Dad hovering over them. Though, sometimes Ted thought they both needed that a little bit more than they thought or allowed.

It didn't take one of William's fancy degrees to figure out what all was going on. Or at least Ted didn't think it did. He and May had witnessed the early struggles of their daughter-in-law trying to find her footing after what that bastard had done to her. They'd seen how William had worked to find his place in it and how their little grandson suddenly was trying to be a man in dealing with things that most men don't even have to think about. They'd heard the crying and the nightmares. They'd seen the dazed looks on all three of them. The terror at sounds and smells. The reluctance to let anyone leave their sight or to even leave the house.

It'd been heartbreaking in so many ways to watch the three of them go through it. Ted had seen a lot as a firefighter. He'd seen death – sometimes horrible deaths. He'd lost men of his own. He'd survived 9/11. He'd dealt with young men with drug and alcohol problems. He'd dealt with older men with the same with divorce and kids and stress and fatigue added into the mix. He'd seen all different variations of post-traumatic stress and trauma before. But nothing had quite prepared him for trying to help his youngest son, daughter-in-law and youngest grandson navigate what they'd endured. Nothing had prepared him emotionally for how he'd interact with it either. And, he'd dealt with Willie losing a wife previously.

Ted worried about that. Willie hadn't let them in much when Tessa had died. If anything he'd retreated from the family more than he'd already retreated in that period of his life. And, he'd so hated that the family had developed a public persona in the midst of it. Yet, again, William's family had been struck by tragedy. And, again, the media was knocking at the door and trying to create a story. This time a hero detective. Trying to some how spin what this monster had done to his daughter-in-law into some sort of good news story. It enraged Ted. This time he just wanted them all to leave his family alone. He wanted them to leave Olivia alone – all of them: the press, the lawyers, the union, the NYPD – and to give her time and space to heal. But what he feared most was how Willie interacted with those sorts of things. Or at least how he'd interacted previously.

Ted had thought William had grown and changed, though. He was a new man now that he'd been a husband for three years with a woman he'd been in a relationship with for far longer. Now that he was a father. Ted had been almost comfortable with how William had been acting before. He knew his son had his own struggles and demons in relation to what had happened but he also saw while his family was living with him what a doting husband and father he was. He was there for Olivia. He was there for Noah. Unconditionally. Supportive and present. But Ted had been watching the tide turn on that persona.

Ted couldn't put his finger on it exactly but he suspected that whatever was going on had to do with the trial. The whole thing had been a bit of a circus as far as he'd been concerned. Though, he hadn't dared express that to his son or Olivia. They didn't need to have more added to their already over-flowing plates. He'd even resisted the urge to contact the DA's office or that ADA or that judge or the NYPD or Olivia's union and let them know just how upset he was with what had gone on in that court room. He'd wanted to. But May had calmed him down and said that it wouldn't do anyone any good. If anything, it would likely just get back to Olivia and upset her more than she was already upset. And, that wasn't something Ted wanted to do.

But witnessing that trial – hearing the things said within that courtroom – had been trying for him. Some of it had been near devastating for May and she still fretted and cried (Though, that was another thing that they wouldn't be telling Willie or Olivia.). If it had been that emotionally jarring for them, he couldn't imagine how it had been for Olivia and for William. And, for little Noey. It had been salt in the wound. If the trial and having to enter testimony hadn't been stressful enough in the lead up, to then have to face their abuser – their torturer – had just served to retraumatize the family. Having to sit there in that room with that monster had been more than enough for Ted. But having to hear that man speak, having to watch him interrogate his son and daughter-in-law, having to listen to his little grandson up on that stand … it had been enough to leave Ted wanting to grab him by the neck and to rip out his jugular. At that point he didn't much care what sort of charges or even sentence that might result in.

Some of what had been said in that court room had gone beyond having to re-live the experience – it'd gone beyond public humiliations – and it had reached the point of being grotesquely horrifying. It had been all he could do to stay in his seat. If May hadn't been sitting there in her own silent stream of tears, gripping at his hand, Ted wasn't sure what he would've done. How he could've sat there in silence through that. He'd barely managed to hold his temper as the jury let that man walk away from rape and attempted murder – as though they hadn't heard a word out of William or Olivia's mouths. As though they believed that bastard more than his family. As though they couldn't see the damage that had already been done, the damage that had been piled on in that courtroom and the damage that they contributed to by letting him get off.

That damage – Ted thought it was at the root of whatever was happening now. The distance and the unease he was feeling between his son and daughter-in-law. The disquiet. The rumpled looks and diverted eyes. The near silence from their usually chatty grandson. And, their appearance on a Friday night with a babysitting request and a date night that looked like it had mostly been spent sitting in the driveway thus far.

Ted turned slightly from his gaze out the crack of the curtains as he felt a presence near his shoulder. His wife was trying to peak around him to get a view as well.

"Is it them?" she asked.

Ted nodded. "But I think they are going over to Tommy's," he said. "The loft."

May gazed around him trying to see past the reflection from the living room lighting and out front.

"Well they couldn't have been gone long enough to have had dinner. Does it look like they have something? Maybe I should run some food over to them."

"William's got something in his hand," Ted said. "Just leave them be."

At that point, he thought the best course of action really was to leave them be. Ted hoped that the fact Olivia had called – the fact they were there – meant they'd recognized that something was wrong. They needed a night either with family or on their own or out of the house or without a little boy clinging to their every word, look and bit of body language. They needed something. Ted suspected it was far more than that. Or rather, he was worried it was far more than that. He knew a night wouldn't be enough to fix any of their problems. But he hoped that it would be a small help or at least an impetuous in making it better. He could pray.

"Are Mom and Dad back?" Noah asked suddenly there too and pushing by him, pulling aside the curtains and making their presence in the window entirely apparent.

"No, Noey," Ted said, "your Mom and Dad aren't back yet."

Noah looked up at him and jammed a finger against the glass. "Yes, they are. I can see Mom."

Ted sighed and reached and pulled the curtain back into place and nudged both his wife and grandson away from the window.

"They're back but they're still on their date," he said. "They're going up to Uncle Tommy's loft."

"Well, can I go there too?" Noah asked.

Ted shook his head. "No, Noey. Your Mom and Dad are on a date. They'll come here when they're done. They need some time alone to talk."

"But they don't talk anymore," Noah protested at him. "Dad never comes home and Mom cries every night after she makes me go to bed. And they don't even hug in the morning anymore."

Ted let out a slow sigh at that. Even his grandson saying that stung him so he couldn't imagine how much that was hurting Olivia. It near made him want to storm outside and accost his son between the houses. To remind him what made a good husband and a good father. To remind him of the commitments he'd made and the commitments he had. To tell him how Olivia and Noah deserved far better than he was giving in that moment. That they needed far more than that. That he needed to be a man and to man up. To not screw this up – because he would regret letting that woman and that little boy go for the rest of his life if he ended up hurting or disappointing them beyond repair.

But it was so hard to bring himself to say any of that to his boy when he knew how hurt William was too. He knew his son was a good man and a good husband and a good father, so his grandson's statement – the further glimpse at what was going on in that apartment – only served to cast a light on just how much Willie was struggling. He was struggling so much he couldn't be there for his wife – and for his son – in the ways Ted had seen William be in the days and weeks and months that followed what had happened.

Ted had watched his son in that courtroom. On those benches and on the stand. He'd seen his rage and heard it. He'd seen his anger and his hurt. He'd seen the tears. But he'd seen the fear too. Though Ted didn't think he'd seen his son break in that room, he was sure he'd seen him fracture. And, he was sure just as sure that those fractures had now turn into cracks that he could only hope Willie and Olivia were trying to patch that night. Or at least beginning their efforts too – before the dam burst and they had an even bigger mess on their hands. One that would have far too many ramifications for far too many people. The stakes were too high and this wasn't a game.

It pained him though to hear from the mouth of a babe how much his daughter-in-law was hurting. To hear she was crying when she thought she had privacy. To be doing it alone in the dark. Hidden.

Even now looking out the window, he could see Olivia hanging back. She was barely following after William. Almost like he was unsure if she was going to follow. Almost like she might be heading for the house while he was heading for the garage. Ted hoped that wasn't the case. What Ted did know, though, was that Olivia wasn't much of a follower. But since the spring, he'd seen her hanging back more and more.

Ted loved all his daughter-in-laws. He'd been happy to add them to his family and even happier and they and his sons had added grandchildren to his family. But he'd always felt like he had a bit more special connection with Olivia, even though he'd known her the shortest period. But he could relate to her more. He could understand where she was coming from. He knew the fronts and the personality type. He had some idea of what she saw and did on the job and all the burdens that carried – especially when you had children. Ted actually thought at the beginning (maybe even now in his own way), he'd understood it more than William. He wasn't sure that William had known what he was getting into. But what he was getting into was exactly what he needed. It was how Ted felt the day (after) he'd met the woman, and it was still how he felt now.

It wasn't just that, though. As much as his son had needed a woman like Olivia to call his wife. Olivia had needed a man like William to call her husband. But Ted knew it wasn't just a husband that Olivia had been looking for. He'd caught onto that not far into her first visit. She was a woman looking for a place and a community. She was someone without a family.

Ted had never really tried to be a father figure for her. That'd be presumptuous of him. He never got the sense from Olivia that that was what she wanted or needed. A family, a place – yes. A father and grandparents for her son – perhaps. But a father – no. Ted had known she had other men in her life to provide that on some level if that was something she desired at all. It wasn't his job. Though, he had felt since the family's ordeal, he'd gotten closer to her. Maybe he'd become more like a father to her. Or maybe he'd really just been a person she trusted who was available to listen. Not that they had really talked about any of it. Not in detail. At least no more detail than what Ted had already heard while being in the police station or rescue scene or in the hospital. Definitely not in the haunting details he'd had to seethed through in court. But he'd been there for Olivia. He'd been more than willing to support her and distract her. To try to help her find her feet.

He'd expected other people in her life to be doing just as much. He'd particularly expected it to come from John Munch and Don Cragen. Two older man that she seemed to hold so much respect for. **(MINOR ROLLERCOSTER SPOILER ALERT IN THE NEXT COUPLE SENTENCES – in bold and italtics to skip if you like.)** _**Part of him had even expected Elliot Stabler to come out of the woodwork. To show up at that police precinct. To show up at their house in the aftermath. To come to the trial. But he hadn't. Ted knew he shouldn't have hoped for the man to show more of a spine. Not when he'd already disappointed the family when Noey had fallen ill again. Whatever ties that had been left had dissolved into nothingness in the fallout from that. **_But it should've been a different story with John and Don.

It should've been such a different story. They'd seen what Olivia had had to go through. They saw how she was coping. They knew she needed help. She needed their strength and support. And, John just decides to leave with some sort of bullshit excuse about a case getting to him. It was Olivia's case that should've gotten to him. Not one that mirrored cases he'd already had to deal with at least a dozen time in his career in SVU. And, in getting to him, Olivia's case should've spurred him to rally around her, as far as Ted was concerned. Around her and around her family. Around her little son who Ted knew thought Unkie Munchie was by far the cooler and superior uncle compared to his Uncle Robbie and Uncle Tommy. But he'd left. On his way – barely two months after Olivia was back on the job. Ted had managed to bite his tongue. At least John had minorly kept in touch with his son and daughter-in-law's family. Not as much as Ted thought someone considered family should – but at least he'd called. At least he'd checked in on him. At least he was still around for Noey. Don Cragen had disappointed Ted far more.

Ted couldn't bring himself to understand how his daughter-in-law's Captain could retire early. Not with what his squad was still bouncing back from. Having worked with people under him for years, after having all these people he was responsible for managing, these young people who looked up to him and counted on him – Ted just could not understand. He couldn't relate. And, even if Don had felt it was time to retire, after serving as Captain to such a small squad for so long, when so many of those people had been under his command for so many years, and when he'd repeatedly heard the man refer to his daughter-in-law, as 'my girl' – Ted couldn't comprehend leaving and going on a cruise for six months. Not two weeks. Six months. In the midst of a family's breakdown that hadn't been resolved – that in anything, looked like it was getting worse. And not just that, leaving after encouraging Olivia to go for a promotion – which Ted never doubted for a second that she more than deserved and for which he was exceedingly proud of her – but it meant added responsibility when she was already flailing in dealing with regular, daily, mundane life and the job as it was. Now she had all this extra work, all these new duties, all these extra personalities to manage. Ted wasn't sure he could forgive Don Cragen for that. He wasn't sure what the man was thinking.

Olivia had made some comment about him going for a 'hail marry' in the love and happiness department. Ted had tried to respect and appreciate that. Having had a family of his own and having struggled to keep it together himself while he was on the job – he couldn't entirely relate. But he'd known that Olivia's captain had been a widower – losing his wife to tragedy. So, he tried to think of what would've happened to Will if he hadn't found Olivia and her little boy. If he'd spent his adult life alone with only his work. It had been something he and May had feared would happen for years. For years it had seemed like their son wasn't even trying to move on that he put all his energy into his work and had narrowed his focus to just those numbers in front of him. Ted supposed Willie could've easily have become Don Cragen if it hadn't been for happenstance. So he forced himself to try to understand the choice and to try to forgive the man for leaving his daughter-in-law when she was in need – even though he was clearly the one that Olivia thought of when she thought of as a father figure in her life. The real test, though, would be when the man returned from his trip. If he tried to be a part of the family's life or not. Or if he would have faded into his own. Ted suspected he knew the ending to the story.

But he bit his tongue there too. He told himself that even though Olivia had worked with those men for so much of her adult life – since she was barely out of her 20s – it was his family that she'd chosen to become a part of. It was their family that she was a part of. And as much resistance as she'd shown to letting them be that for her – she was a member of their family now, and a treasured one at that. Ted hated to see her in pain and he hated more to think that her son was now contributing to it, blindly or otherwise. That his son wasn't able to provide this woman the support she needed right now when she was grappling with things he'd never wish on anyone. Things that horrified him that one of the women in his tight knit family had had to endure.

It wasn't fair - and he didn't want her crying in the dark about it while her little boy was alone and scared in the next room and his son was trying to hide God-knows where. It just made him want to end the babysitting and date night and board game and stomp out front. To give his daughter-in-law a tight hug, to take his son aside for a talk and then to wave some magic wand and to try to figure out how to fix this for all of them.

But instead all Ted could muster was to give his wife a look and she just gave him a frown before looking down at their grandson and tapping his shoulder.

"Come on now, Noah," she said gently. "Let's finish getting the game all set up."

"But Uncle Rob and Aunt Karen aren't even here yet," he whined. It was clear that with his parents having arrived back, his interest in the board game was dwindling.

Getting Noey to want to stay there had been challenging enough. There'd been his angry foot stomp and tears while Olivia was trying to get him settled. William had stayed uninvolved in the process. Though, Ted had overheard Olivia offering the promise that if Noey behaved that night his daddy would be taking him over to the comic store in the morning. He got the sense that Noah didn't much believe that bribe. There'd been a comment from the little boy that his father hadn't taken him to get a comic in 'forever' – and whatever that length of time actually was, Ted knew that it was uncharacteristic of his son as well.

Willie taking Noey to the comic store seemed to be a Saturday ritual. If it wasn't the comic store, it was the three of them at come book store or coffee shop. They used to talk about it. It used to be if any of the family called over to Willie's family on a Saturday, that's where they'd inevitably be. But that didn't happen much anymore. It hadn't since the spring. Ted suspected they didn't do it anymore. He got the impression that they hardly left their apartment when they were home together. That they hadn't explored their new neighborhood or borough. They hadn't found a new book store or comic shop or coffee shop or brunch spot. That they just huddled together like scared animals. Because that was how he sometimes saw them anymore while he watched them. Even though they were still his family when he looked at them, they weren't the people they had been eight months ago. It pained him.

He and May had been trying so hard to help them navigate back to their former lives. He knew it was an unrealistic expectation. You couldn't exactly go back to the every day after something like this. But they'd tried to encourage them in things they had use to enjoy. He invited them out on his Saturday morning coffee outings. They provided an escort (security guard) on walks. May made cookies with Noah and they brought home books for Olivia and Noey to read together. They tried to introduce new distraction for them like puttering in the wood shed or in the garden. And, they tried to embrace things that they thought their youngest's family might enjoy even if it wasn't much for them – like this damn board game that Noey was quickly losing interest in. It wasn't proving to be much of a distraction after all.

"They'll be here soon," Ted said. "They're bringing that Baby Gargoyle dip you like so much. So you better have that board all set up."

Noah gave him a look like he was completely ridiculous. "Baba ghanoush, Popa," he groaned.

Ted made a face right back at him. "I don't know what your parents are feeding you," he said.

Noah huffed more. "It's just eggplant!"

Ted made a small gagging noise in a tease. "All I know if that Uncle Robbie is bringing Popa pretzels. So that game better be ready so Nana lets me eat."

"You eat it with pita and vegetables! Not pretzels!" Noah protested.

"Too healthy," Popa put back at him and made a dismissive wave.

"Popa …" Noah sighed.

"I'm making up a plate of veggies and pita chips too, Noah, don't you worry," May told him and again tried to hustle him back to the table.

"I don't like YOUR pita chips," Noah shot back. "They're gross. They are all hard and crunchy. They just rip apart your mouth!"

May gave him a sterner look. "Then you don't have to eat them, Noah," she said. "But maybe other people at the table will want them. Now come along. Popa will be back over in a minute."

"Get Col. Mustard all ready for me," Ted said thinking it might distract the boy from apparently further aggravating him with the mention of the food that was meant to be a treat he liked. But it was the wrong thing to say. Noah spun back around.

"NO. Daddy is always Col. Mustard," he protested a little too loudly. "You can't be Col. Mustard and no one can't be Miss Scarlet. That's MOM!"

"Well there's only six pieces and there's five of us playing, Noey, so you're going to have to let someone be one of them," Ted contended. "I sure look a lot more like Col. Mustard than your Daddy does."

Noah squinted at him. "You do not," he said.

Ted nodded. "I do too. You go take a look and let me know. Because I don't think Aunt Karen will make a very good Miss Scarlet."

"She's Ms. Peacock. Nana is Mrs. White," Noah informed him.

"Ah. And who's Uncle Robbie?"

"Mr. Green."

"And you?"

"I'm the PROFESSOR!" Noah informed him again at an unnecessary decibel. "That's what my dad says!"

Ted nodded. "And who's that leave for me?"

Noah's squint got a bit angrier. "You can eat pretzels," he said with a tone that Ted didn't much like.

But he just allowed a small nod again. And May again cast him a sad look. "We can talk about it when everyone gets here," she said. "Come help me finish setting up the game."

Ted watched them for a moment. He could see some fuming anger in his grandson and the tone and attitude the boy had shown since getting there was rubbing Ted the wrong way. Part of him wanted to correct it. He wanted to sit his grandson down and have a talk with him too. But he knew it was more complicated than that.

He'd watched how Olivia and Will dealt with him anymore. Noah got away with everything – and it was an awful time for that to be happening because he was raging against an internal anger and confusion about what had happened to him and his mother and his father and now what was happening to his family. Since he couldn't rectify what had occurred it was manifesting itself more in behavior problems than in tears. Those happened too. The little boy cried and he trembled and he could hardly sleep through the night. He wet his bed and he just clung to anyone near him. He couldn't stand to be along. He couldn't stand the dark. He hate loud sounds or music or water. He was heartbreaking to see. But it was the rage in the boy that scared Ted.

Olivia used to govern that boy with such a strong tone and a firm hand – and his Willie, who Ted had always wonder how such a gentle soul would manage as a father – had followed suit. Even when Noey had been sick, that boy was governed. Sometimes it was to the point that even Ted had almost cut in and told them to give the child a break. Instead, he and May had relished in being the grandparents for him and being the ones who got to bend the rules and get everyone to loosen up. Ted hadn't understood how daughter-in-law could still manage to be so stern when her little boy was effectively dying, but she had been. She had rules and order and Noey was a good boy. Smart, well-behaved – as much as any little boy is – and generally, happy. A funny little thing. But not anymore. And, his parents didn't seem to try to reign in the behavior anymore either. It was like because of what he'd been through they couldn't bring themselves to chide him. Noey needed the chiding, though. He needed to be told he couldn't cope like that. He needed the stern voice and the discipline and the hugs now as much or more than he had during the cancer. But there were days Ted didn't know how to say that to his son and daughter-in-law either. Because he admitted, even when Noey was in his care, thinking about what had happened to him – especially now after the court case and hearing all he'd heard there about what had gone on in that room and what that little boy had bore witness to and had been left to languish in – he wasn't sure how to chide him either. He just wanted to hug his grandson endlessly and repeat like a broken record that he was going to be alright, that his parents were going to be alright. That he was safe and that Popa would never, ever, ever, EVER let anything like that happen to him ever again.

Ted wondered how much Will and Olivia had told each other about their separate experiences. How much they actually had talked in the months leading up to the trial. They were man and wife. He knew they must talk. He knew that they had rough spots and arguments and bickering just like any married couple. They'd experienced some of the tension and their home had become the neutral ground or the area of retreat before over the years. But as much as he knew they must talk, he'd never really thought of either William or Olivia as talkers. Willie never had been – and Olivia, though she had a sharp tongue when she wanted too – she wasn't ever overly chatty. They were both fiercely independent people too. He knew that. He thought they'd both needed that in their lives. A partner who could respect that and not try to beat it out of them. It did make him wonder, though, how much of what had been said in the trial the other had been prepared for.

Ted McTeague wasn't sure anyone could've really been prepared for that trial. After seeing that trial, he doubted that any victim of sexual assault or violence or rape ever was. You can't ever truly be prepared for something like that. But the last minute inclusion of William Lewis as representing himself and being allowed to speak to them and cross-examine them and twist and contort ever hour and minute and second of the entire experience for them. Not matter what their doctors or therapists or lawyers had done to prepare them for the trial – there was no way any of them had prepared them for that. It was a month later and he still caught May in tears about some of the things that had been said there. The looks of that monster and how he'd spoken to them and raged at them and hurt them all again. If Will and Olivia hadn't talked as much as maybe they needed to before the trial, Ted was sure things got brought up there that stung in strange and agonizing ways. It'd left him and May grappling with what had happened to those three in whole new ways. Ted could hardly imagine having to try to grapple with that as events having been inflicted on his wife and son.

He glanced back out the curtain. Will had made it up the steps and was working at the door, finally switching a light on and calling something down to Olivia, who finally seemed to follow after him. Ted wondered if Will was checking the security of the space for them first or if he'd just been sent up to see if the door was open and Olivia had stayed down to go and retrieve the keys if necessary. He hoped it wasn't that they were fighting. He knew they were. Or something of that sort. But he hoped that they could manage to talk. They so needed to talk and they so needed to be together. He hoped they could at least see that. They needed each other. That amidst all the rest of the sounds being made – that they could hear that. From each other.


	5. The Loft

**Title: Therapy**

**Author: ZombieJazz**

**Fandom: Law & Order: SVU**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them. Law and Order SVU and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The characters of Will (and his family) and Noah have been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

**Summary: Olivia talks to her therapist about her husband's reaction to her pregnancy test results and the implications it has for their relationship. A O/S of the therapist office scene in Wednesday's child.**

**Author's Notes: This AU series is for SVU fans and readers who want Olivia to have something that resembles a more normal life outside of work and a family of her own - hopefully somewhat realistically within the canon of SVU. My stories are not EO and never will be. You may want to read some of my other ones for context on the characters in this AU first - though, it's likely fairly self-explanatory on its own too.**

Olivia glanced back at Will as she jabbed her chopsticks around her lo mein. Chinese take-out on Staten Island would not have been her top choice of things to eat on a Friday night. Or any night. She'd had it a couple times from this place before when Ted and May had thought it'd be a great family 'treat' to get take-out on a Sunday night. They'd made the mistake of spending a New Year's Eve with them that included food from this restaurant. After living in Manhattan, she'd become rather spoiled about sampling 'ethnic' cuisine. This wasn't Chinese food in her opinion. She wasn't even sure she'd really classify it as food. But considering how long it'd taken her and Will to come to an agreement on what to do or where to go, she really hadn't said too much when he'd picked this place.

She'd started to think that they weren't even going to leave the driveway of his parents. That they'd just sit in their car for a while before conceding that they weren't even in a place where they were ready to spend a few hours alone together. The silence had been awkward and extended in the car as it sat their idling. She knew his parents were likely peaking at them through the cracks in their curtain wondering what the hell they were doing. She wouldn't have been surprised if his brothers were doing the same on either side of them.

She should've come up with some sort of plan for their 'date night' before they went over. But before when her and Will had date nights, it'd been in the city. They had their list of usual places – piano bars, Irish pubs and cop dives, spots to have a beer while watching a game, romantic restaurants and quick bites, coffee shops that let them sit for hours and read. They'd occasionally to a museum or a gallery opening or a movie or some faculty function of his. Sometimes a show or concert. Never anything overly fancy. But usually nice. Enough to make them feel like they were still in a relationship and were getting alone time and were on a date when they really hadn't ever dated when you got right down to it. Yet all those options seemed like non-options anymore. Remote possibilities. And, even if they wanted to do them, it felt like they'd have to find new places and spots and things to do. She didn't think they wanted to spend an evening hanging around Manhattan. It felt like they were spending their lives running away from Manhattan anymore while it magnetically pulled them back each morning and mocked them for having left.

Olivia didn't know what they were supposed to do on Staten Island, though. Her knowledge of Staten Island consisted of parks and playgrounds that Noah liked and big box stores that she couldn't find in the city but could make herself endure while they were out in this borough that never really felt like it should be called part of New York City. To her, Staten Island was just hanging around Tottenville. Walking down to the shoreline and sitting on the porch in Will's parents backyard. She didn't think there was a long list of date night options.

"What do you want to do?" she'd finally asked Will.

He'd just been staring straight ahead, his hands on the steering wheel like he was waiting for her to give him directions. She supposed that was fair. She was the one who'd insisted on this. But he was the one who'd lived here.

"I don't know," he'd shrugged. "What do you want to do?"

She sighed. "I really don't know what there is to do here, Will," she finally admitted. She needed to get out of that driveway.

He gave her a small glance. "Bowling?" he suggested.

She met his eyes. "Bowling?"

That shrug again. "Bowling," he stated flatly. "We're on Staten Island. Your option is bowling."

She watched him and tried to weigh that. "Do you want to go bowling?" she asked carefully.

"Not really," he said with just as little emotion.

"Me neither," she said.

She was glad he hadn't said he did. She tolerated going bowling about once a year for cross department fundraiser that Ted now took great glee in forcing her to attend. Before being roped into the McTeague family she'd never bothered to go on behalf of the NYPD and even now she wasn't sure it classified as fun. It definitely didn't constitute something she'd ever want to do on a date night. She wasn't sure a bowling alley on a Friday night in a place that didn't have a lot of an activity option sounded like a great idea either. It sounded like every teen and drunkard on Staten Island would likely be there. She wasn't in a place where she wanted to deal with that.

"I could eat," she suggested and gave him another glance. He was back to staring straight ahead but allowed a little nod.

"Yeah, I could eat too," he agreed.

"Want to go get something?"

Another shrug. "Sure," Will had said. "Where?"

"I don't know," Olivia said. "Wherever."

That 'wherever' had likely been the nail in the coffin in what she had in front of her now. She should've specified she wanted to go and sit down somewhere. She should've said Italian or even McDonalds, which compared to this might've been a better choice. But she supposed at least they'd ended up with something. Though, with takeout, they were now up in his brother's loft above his garage. At least at dinner, Will would've been forced to stare at her for 60 to 90 minutes. Now he'd again settled into yet another couch and had his eyes set against yet another television screen.

She gazed at him over her shoulder. He didn't even seem to notice she was looking. His attention was focused on the TV even though she knew with near certainty that he was barely tolerating what was on the screen. If she was going to have to endure Chef Wong, she was at least picking what they were watching – as much as the TV up there managed to pick up much of anything. She'd snagged the remote as soon as they sat down and Will started digging into the bag of food. He didn't seem particularly bothered by the cheap facsimile of kung pao chicken. It was being shoveled into his mouth no matter how unappetizing it looked and he'd near inhaled his egg roll. Will rarely at things so deep fried and he never ate that fast. If anything, he ate agonizingly slowly to the point that even she was asking to excuse herself and start the cleanup rather than having to watch him pick slowly at his meal. She suspected the mouth-stuffing method had something to do with the hope of not having to talk if he had his mouth full.

She'd let him to that point. Slowly nursing her egg drop soup and noting to never-ever order it from Chef Wong again, if she ever had to eat there again. But now that she was looking at her lo mein, she was starting to think that maybe they should try to acknowledge each other's existence. Otherwise she suspected Will would finish his meal and suggest they go back to is parents, where he could sit his ass on another couch and look at another TV and try to ignore her in a new location.

She sat back a bit on the couch and looked at him again. He still didn't acknowledge it. So she leaned against him a bit and that did earn a small glance and a thin smile – more or less, he had food in his mouth.

"Can I lean against you?" she asked, checking.

She didn't want to piss him off. She didn't want to invade him space if that was going to set him off and make him uncomfortable. But at the same time she did want to crowd him. She wanted him to acknowledge her. She wanted him to be there with her in that moment. She wanted to put some pressure on him – so he couldn't just get up and leave.

He shrugged. "Yeah, sure," he muttered.

She wasn't sure he was really agreeing but she took him at face value in his statement and let more of her weight fall against him, shifting and tucking her legs under herself as she settled up onto the couch and against his side. But then his arm raised and made room for her to settled her back against his chest, his arm coming back down across her so he could continue to eat his food. But it wasn't that different from how they used to sit while watching the evening news. It was almost cuddling or at least sharing space together. It was an improvement from before.

They both went back to eating and looking at the screen. She saw some of his food dangling out of the corner of her eye and glanced up at where he was managing his chopsticks to get it into his mouth.

"None of that better end up in my hair," she teased.

He glanced down at her and seemed to consider that for a moment before shrugging. "You're the one who wanted to lean against me while I'm eating with chopsticks," he said flatly. She rolled her eyes but he had a point. He nudged his container at her. "Switch?" he suggested.

She glanced at his and then looked at hers. His had a much bigger dent in it. She'd barely started hers. She wasn't sure how hungry she was after-all – or at least not hungry for this.

"I got lo mein," she warned.

That shrug again. "That's OK," he said.

"It has shrimp in it," she further warned. He'd started to eat more fish and seafood since they'd been together but it was never something that was at the top of his list of choices.

"Meh," he muttered and held out his box again. "I'm sick of this."

She examined his. Spicy wasn't usually her thing but she thought the heat might drown out the rest of the taste of the atrocity, so she accepted it, switching meals with him and starting to work at picking out what looked edible in what was left in the container.

"This is an awful movie," Will muttered at her again now that he was working at inhaling her meal.

She glanced up at him. "Who calls Mary Poppins at awful movie?"

"I call Mary Poppins an awful movie," he said flatly.

"It's Dick Van Dyke," she offered as some sort of defense and gestured at the screen where yet another musical number looked like it was about to start.

"It's Julie Andrews," he said with some disgust. "I hate Julie Andrews."

She looked at him again. He was being slightly obnoxious but at least he was talking – about something, anything – and was talking to her. She had to just make those moments count these days.

"Who HATES Julie Andrews?" Olivia contended.

"I hate Julie Andrews," Will said, like that was more than enough of an explanation and defense.

"Oh well," Olivia said. "Chim chim chroo. It's a classic."

"Your definition of classic movies … and good movies … has always been flawed. You have always – ALWAYS – picked the worst movies imaginable. It hurts my brain."

She snorted at him and glanced up again. "I sit through your sports WEEKLY without comment."

"Right," Will said. "You just spend the entire game yelling at the television."

"That's my way of being supportive of your interests," she offered.

She could feel him eyeing her. She could feel that his push to shovel food into his mouth had stopped. So she looked away from the screen and found his eyes again. He had a small smile on his face – almost like he was trying to keep it from showing, like he was uncomfortable with the concept of smiling. She was sure they both were anymore.

"Admit it," he said, as she looked at him. "You like watching the games. You get into it."

Olivia allowed a small laugh at that and shook her head, looking back to her movie and ramming her chopsticks into the box again.

"I might've been exiled from your family if I didn't get into the Yankees and the Knicks," she provided.

Will let out a small noise at that. "I remember someone being very opinionated about the Knicks before she even met my family," he said.

She shrugged against him. "I had to be opinionated. Your opinions that season were flawed," she said, repeating back to him on his commentary on her movie choices.

She felt him shake his head. "Whatever," he muttered and silence hung for several beats. "You were never in any danger of being exiled from the family," he said finally. "My mother had her sights on Noah from the moment you guys set foot into the house and you had my dad at NYPD. It would've been me who would've been exiled from the family if I let you get away. It still is…"

He got quiet again after he said it and when she looked up, his face had again settled into a sadness and he looked distant. She let out of her chopsticks and with her one hand reached up and caressed his bearded cheek until he glanced down at her.

"So don't let me get away," she told him gently.

He sighed at her and gave her a frown. But she pushed herself to give him a thin smile.

"Sometimes I feel like no one's ever thought I was good enough for you," he said quietly and so out of no where – like it was something he'd been waiting to say or trying to figure out for days. More likely weeks or months she suspected.

"It's only you who feels that way," Olivia said without even hesitation, "and you've always been your worst critic."

"It's not just me," he said quietly and she saw the glint in his eyes. The sadness threatening to manifest itself as tears again, which she knew would just embarrass him and cause him to shut down.

She forced herself to extract herself from his light embrace on the couch and sat up, leaning against the back of it, though her one knee still lightly rested across his thigh and she stretched out her hand to keep rubbing gently at his sparse and messy beard. Even though she didn't like the way it looked on him, right now it was soft and felt nice under her fingers.

"Well, it's not me that feels that way, Will," she said. "I wouldn't be with you if I didn't think you were good enough for me. You're more than good enough. You always have been."

"But I'm not good for you," he said and looked down to his food. "I keep … fucking things up. Letting you down."

Olivia sighed and moved a half an inch closer to him and this time ran the back of her hand down his cheek before letting her fingers wrap around his bicep in a gentle squeeze.

"You aren't doing as badly as you think," she said. "I just … need you to talk to me."

He shook his head and gave a small sound. "I don't know … how to do this, Olivia," he said and gave her a look that seemed more frightened than sad.

"No one knows how to do this, Will," she pushed back to him a little bluntly. "I don't know how to do this. I've spent my entire career trying to help people figure out how to get through this – and I don't know how to do this. I might be concerned if you … knew how to do this. That's not what this is about."

But his head just shook again. "I'm not what you need," he said with such defeat. "Not anymore."

She squeezed his bicep more tightly until he looked at her. She likely had hurt him a bit. But his statement had hurt. It scared her. She despised him even saying it.

"You are exactly what I need, Will," she said again with a firmness but then felt the tears pressing at the back of her eyes and forced herself to take a slow breath in an effort to stop them. It came out shaky. "Will …" she finally managed though it felt suffocating to speak at the moment. "I … don't know how I would've made it this far without you. You have been a positive force in this family making any sort of recovery. … What … scares me is the concept of trying to get through the rest of this without you. … You haven't let me down. Not yet. You are what I want and need. I just … I need you to … want and need me too. I need you to talk to me. To talk about this … so we can keep working through it. … You're allowed to have needs and feelings about all of this too. You're supposed to. You need to tell me what's going on with you."

He gazed at her. He was focused on her but his eyes seemed so distant too. He let out a shaky sigh. "I don't even know, Liv …" he said. "I just … hate this."

She gave him a thin smile. "I know," Olivia said. "But I'd hate it more if you weren't here with me in it together."

He returned the thin smile but his eyes dropped to their laps and his finger found a ridge in where her jeans at bunched at her bent knee. It pulled at it and just pushed the material around absent-mindedly like he was trying to focus on anything else but the tears glassing over his eyes and the reality that was wracking his brain. Beyond the few embraces they'd shared over the past couple days, which had still felt so awkward and forced rather than soothing – it was the most he'd touched her in weeks. She watched as his fingers spanned a bit and his hand covered the whole of her knee and part of her thigh. He seemed to massage and consider his hand there for a moment but then either his mind shifted or he realized that she often didn't like him caressing at her inner thigh anymore at least during the limited foreplay they'd been able to force themselves into managing, and the fingers closed and he picked at the ridge in the jeans again.

But as Will focused on that, Olivia allowed herself to just focus on the fact that he was touching her at all. That he seemed to want to. That he was talking to her at all. That he was at least trying to figure out how to say something. So she let him and let him have the silence while he felt the material and her leg and her boney knee – and she brought her hand up and again ran it across the sparse hair on his face before reaching and massaging at his ear. She gently ran her finger around the cartilage and rubbed her thumb against the lobe before giving it a small tug.

At that, his eyes drifted up to her from where they were downcast and he gave her a small smile. He used to really enjoy when she played with his ears. A lot of times it would've been a sure way to get him going. Not so much anymore. He was more guarded about having her touch his face at all. But she was just trying to give him a small bit of comfort, some gentle touch. Some sort of reassurance that she was there for him too. She didn't just expect him to be there for her and for her to give nothing in return. She wanted – she needed – them to be there for each other.

"Time and patience, Will," she told him quietly as his eyes found hers. "We've got lots of both."

He gave a small snort and she saw his eyes drift a bit across the loft to the new bed on the opposite side of the room. He'd gotten the reference. She knew he would. He still wore it on his wrist but he'd clicked immediately to their wedding night up there too when she'd given him that watch in that bed.

"A lot has changed since then …" he said.

She shook her head. "Not that much."

"Too much," he countered and found her eyes.

Olivia traced her fingers down the scar on his face that he'd managed to mostly hide under this facial hair growth at this point. She wasn't sure if that had been his goal or not. But she leaned in and put a small kiss against one visible area where his surgery had been done in the weeks following the assault as concerns mounted about swelling near his optical nerve.

"Time and patience," she said again and looked him straight in the eyes, holding his face in her hands.

She could see him eyeing her and his struggle to decide what he was supposed to do and what he was allowed to do and what he wanted. So she made the decision for him and leaned in, finding his lips for a kiss. There were several moments that seemed to stand there for an eternity but than his mouth responded and he returned the kiss. It wasn't a long kiss but it felt nice. Though, it had just been when they'd both started to allow themselves to deepen it that Will stopped it and leaned against the couch looking at her. He had a small smile that looked a little coy. She raised her eyebrow at him.

"You taste like Kung Pao chicken," he informed her, without her even having to ask what his look was about. This liked that. She liked when she didn't have to ask. When he knew without either of them speaking.

She snorted and let a smile spread across her lips a bit. "So?" she put back to him. "It's one of your favorites, isn't it? Is it a bad thing that I taste like it?"

Will shrugged. "I usually like you to smell and taste like other things."

Olivia allowed him a small laugh at that and felt the smile grow a little bit more. "Well, sorry," she said, "but you picked dinner."

"There were limited choices," Will contended.

Olivia rolled her eyes. "I'm pretty sure there were other choices."

Will shrugged. "There's other choices on television too," he said and gestured behind her and she glanced over her shoulder to see the movie still going.

As she turned back to him, she leaned back into his space. "So then stop watching it," she said quietly, moving her face closer to his again.

"It's hard to stop watching such outstanding performances," Will said drily.

She smiled at that comment. She was close enough to his mouth again that he must've felt the change on her face and a smile spread on his face too.

"Will …" she said gently "… shut up."

"I thought you wanted me to talk more," he put back to her but the smile was growing.

She shook her head and leaned in even closer. "You can stop talking for now," she assured him and her lips found his again and this time he gently kissed her back without the hesitation.


	6. The Appointment

**Title: Therapy**

**Author: ZombieJazz**

**Fandom: Law & Order: SVU**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them. Law and Order SVU and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The characters of Will (and his family) and Noah have been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

**Summary: Olivia talks to her therapist about her husband's reaction to her pregnancy test results and the implications it has for their relationship. A O/S of the therapist office scene in Wednesday's child.**

**Author's Notes: This AU series is for SVU fans and readers who want Olivia to have something that resembles a more normal life outside of work and a family of her own - hopefully somewhat realistically within the canon of SVU. My stories are not EO and never will be. You may want to read some of my other ones for context on the characters in this AU first - though, it's likely fairly self-explanatory on its own too.**

Dr. Lindstrom looked to the door of his office as there was a knock. Olivia's eyes quickly darted over almost faster than his. But as his administrator held the door open a crack and a man appeared inside already mumbling his apologies, he knew that it was exactly the knock she'd been waiting for and hoping her.

In a way he was glad she'd gotten what she'd wanted. When he'd greeted her in the waiting room he'd been both surprised and completely unsurprised to find her alone. But she'd near immediately started to provide excuses for her husband and to just assure him that the man was only running lately. That he'd be there. Lindstrom wasn't entirely sure that he'd expected him to show up. In fact, when he'd found her alone in the room, he'd been completely prepared to spend a significant proportion of that session discussing that with her and how it felt for her and what it meant to her and how she wanted to deal with it. But she'd been so adamant that her husband would be there, he'd left that topic for the moment, deciding to broach it with her in the last 20 minutes or so of their session, if the man still hadn't appeared. Olivia, though, had been so distracted with her phone and check in and sending texts, that he'd had politely reminder her about his electronics rules and ask her to put it away. He'd told her upfront that if her husband hadn't arrived - as he was apparently promising her – they could talk about it in a bit. But she'd just pushed back again that he'd be there. So they waited and he continued on with trying to address some of her other priorities.

But now here he was. His demeanor did suggest that he had been running late and that he did feel guilty about it. He seemed embarrassed and flustered. He was almost in a tizzy as he entered the room, giving his wife a sympathetic look and sputtering off his apologies.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I wasn't supposed to be at that meeting but they called me in and I kept trying to leave and just …"

Olivia interrupted. "It's OK. We can talk about it later," she told him somewhat curtly. But it was enough to stop the man in his tracks. He just stood there inside the door and gazed at her almost like a hurt animal and than shifted his eyes away from his wife and too his feet like an embarrassed child.

Lindstrom took that moment to stand up and walk across the room. "Why don't you take off your coat and stay a while?" he offered far more conjugality than his wife had and gestured with his hand to the coat tree off behind her husband's shoulder.

The man glanced behind him but started to shrug his jacket off. He really did seem a bit of a nervous mess. Though, Lindstrom was used to seeing that in first time patients. He was sure the man running lately and that he was his wife's therapist wouldn't be helping matters at all. But he also knew that he was far from this man's first therapy visit.

Lindstrom wasn't entirely sure what he'd expected out of Olivia's husband. She spoke about him in such broad strokes that he really hadn't been able to form any sort of opinion about him – or even much of an idea of who or how he might be. But even in the casual observations he was making now as the man removed his coat, he seemed a mess. His outfit looked unkempt and his appearance looked tired and ragged. There was a nervous energy about him but he also just seemed exhausted. There was a shyness and a timidness but with that agitation that Lindstrom could see that there might be some pent up anger and even rage that could boil over if buttons were pushed in the wrong way.

"Peter Lindstrom," he said as the man turned back around and offered his hand. He took it and offered a firm but rather short shake. "Do you prefer to go by Will or William?" he asked when there'd been not reciprocal introduction. He supposed from Olivia's commentary about him not liking the concept of her talking about him that made it was assumed that introductions had already been made.

It was Olivia who answered from behind them, though. "Will," she said bluntly again. "Not William."

Will's eyes had tracked back to her and Lindstrom turned as well. Her posture had become more tense and there was a hardness to her eyes accompanied by a small glint. They'd never discussed the fact that her husband had the same name as her attacker but it was a reality that Lindstrom wasn't oblivious too. Clearly neither was the couple.

"Yeah," Will offered more quietly. "Will's fine. No one calls me William expected my parents. Even they don't really anymore …"

Lindstrom just offered a small nod and this time gestured to the sitting area. "Will …" he said in a simple offer for him to sit down, as he returned to his own chair and notepad, observing the man again and watching where he did choose to sit.

For a moment it looked like he was going to pick the solo armchair but he managed to navigate around it and selected the couch with his wife. Though, he sat about as far away from her as possible to the point that he was almost huddle into the far corner, sitting awkwardly stiff with his hands fidgeting on his knees.

The doctor still watched as Olivia moved on the couch and shifted closer to him and how Will cast her a sideways glance as she leaned into his space and than reached out and plucked the beanie that he'd left on his head when he'd removed his coat. She held it out to him.

"You forgot your hat," she said plainly.

Will took it from her and bunched it in his hand almost like he was going to use it as a stress ball. Meanwhile Olivia was already reaching again to brush down the static that the removal had left in her husband's hair that looked more like he had just rolled out of bed that morning than that he'd removed his hat. But Will's hand came up and brushed hers away in a half attempt to smooth down his own mess.

"It's cold out," Will muttered as he did so, like that was enough of an explanation. Or at least that he felt that any of it needed some sort of explanation.

Olivia was still watching him as he fidgeted and her husband's eyes quickly darted to her again. This time Lindstrom saw her hand land on his knee and than skirt to find his hand and provide it a brief squeeze.

"Hey," she said in a very quiet but still unmistakably firm voice. "It's OK. Just calm down."

Will nodded. "Yeah," he muttered again but his eyes had set across the room on something distant and Lindstrom found himself measuring how much of a participant the man might even be now that he was here.

"So, Will," Lindstrom started, not really wanting to waste too much time seeing as they'd already spent part of the supposedly joint-session without his presence. "Olivia was just telling me that the two of you have been communicating a bit better this week?"

The man's eyes first gave Olivia a look but then drifted to him. "Ahh … yeah …," he offered. "I'm … trying … to be home more this week. I guess we've sort of been talking."

"And how's that going from your perspective?" Lindstrom asked.

Will gazed at him nearly blankly and than his eyes moved back to Olivia and he seemed to examine her for far too long, like he was trying to get some sort of non-verbal cue from her about exactly how he was supposed to answer that. "Ah … well …" he sputtered some more. "I don't know. How do you think it's going?" he asked his wife.

Olivia looked at her husband. "I'm glad we're talking more than before," she provided after a bit of a silence. "But I'm still feeling like it's a bit of a one-side conversation."

At that point Will's eyes tracked away from her and again found a spot across the room as he sat looking so uncomfortable on that very comfortable couch.

"How about you, Will?" Lindstrom pressed again. "Are you feeling like something is missing from your conversations?"

A noise let out from the man. A prolonged sigh that eventually was joined with a headshake and a shrug of the shoulders.

"Yeah, I don't know," Will said. "I guess we've been off for a while."

"How do you mean 'off'?" Lindstrom asked.

Will shrugged but his eyes moved from the wall to his feet. "Just figuring out the rules … since … is just … fucked."

Olivia made a sound at that. It seemed somewhat disgusted with his comment and her eyes seemed to move from the casual watching of her husband to almost drilling into him.

"There aren't rules," she spat out with some force. But Will met her eyes briefly and even from where Lindstrom was sitting he could see a disagreement in them.

"What rules do you think have come into play?" Lindstrom asked.

But Will just shrugged then. "I don't know."

"You think there's rules," Olivia said again, now somewhat harshly. "You need to clarify that. Because I don't think there's rules."

Lindstrom held up his hand at that. "OK, Olivia," he said gently. "Let's let Will talk and try to express himself. You'll have a chance to respond."

Now it was him who was getting those drilling eyes but she did keep silent. But with her body language, he could tell it was taking every last ounce in her being to sit there quietly.

"Olivia wants to hear what you have to say Will," Lindstrom said and cast eyes more directly at his patient in a gentle reminder. "That's why we're all here." But Will just remained quiet at that point. Lindstrom let him for a moment but then decided it would best to rephrase his question.

He folded his hands. "Rather than rules, how about you just tell me about some of things you're finding difficult these days … if you can."

Will sat there again for a long time and let out a slow sigh.

"I just don't know what I'm doing," he finally said quietly. "I never know what to do. I'm trying to help her but it never feels like I'm doing it right."

"There isn't a right or wrong," Olivia interjected again and Lindstrom again cast her a look trying to encourage her to wait for her chance to speak. If she cut off her husband too many times it was very clear that he was going to shut down. Lindstrom wasn't even sure if he was going to be able to get him to open up.

"There is a wrong," Will contended. "If there wasn't a wrong, we wouldn't be here."

It was Olivia's turn to make a sound and she looked away from her husband for the first time and shook her head, looking off over her shoulder and into a corner.

"OK," Lindstrom conceded. "Then how about we talk about what some of the hardest parts of all of this are for you?"

Will just offered him a shrug, his eyes firmly on his feet and his hands now wringing that beanie like he thought he might be able to conjure some sort of moisture out of it.

"Anything you want to get off your chest?" Lindstrom tried again.

The silence that sat in that room seemed to last for far too long. Long enough that Lindstrom was starting to contemplate his next actions. If a new couple's therapist would be beneficial to them and who he knew that might be able to take them on. If some other setting might work better for them. What ways he could try to navigate them through the rest of this session and still have something useful to offer them.

But then Will finally admitted at a near whisper, "I don't really remember what happened."

"You're repressing it?" Lindstrom asked.

Will shook his head. "Not really," he said quietly. "It's just … that my memory is limited. I spent a lot of time unconscious. I guess the concussion affected my memory too. It's like … everything is so blurred and narrow. That it's like I'm only able to remember this really specific period of it. And I know …" he shook his head again and looked more at his feet. "I know that it went on for far longer than just that period. That my son and my wife … have all these memories … that they had to experience the pain in a different way than me. It's like … I couldn't be there for my family then … and I … can't even … share in it with them now … because it's just all … gone …"

"Losing consciousness doesn't diminish the experience you had, Will," Lindstrom provided. "It doesn't mean that you aren't allowed to have feelings about it. And it isn't an indication of a failure."

Will gave him a small glance but no response. Lindstrom weighed if this was a topic of conversation that he'd worked on with his therapist and it was just being presented to his wife now or if this was entirely new territory.

"I lost consciousness too," Olivia provided quietly and gave him a glance for permission to speak before settling her gaze back on her husband. "A lot. And with the alcohol and the drugs and the pain … there's things that I don't remember too. Or are just blurry. Sometimes that scares me too. The things I can't remember and wondering what happened during those periods." More emotion seemed to fill her voice as she said it and Lindstrom caught glimpses of her eyes, which were getting that glassy look.

"I just feel like we're supposed to … relate to everything. You're supposed to say that," Will said quietly. "You're supposed to try to understand what I went through and I'm supposed to understand what you went through. And we're supposed to say we get it and we're supportive. But sometimes I don't feel like you get it. Sometimes I know I don't get it. Any of it."

"What is it that you feel Olivia isn't understanding about your experience, Will?" Lindstrom pressed.

Will was quiet again and Lindstrom hoped that this silence didn't drag on as long as the one before because he could see the hurt in Olivia at his suggestion that she didn't understand or appreciate his experience or that she wasn't supporting him the right way. The underlying suggestion that he didn't or couldn't support her either. It would be a challenging statement to get either of them to move beyond – let alone to work on given their current states.

"That this was worse than her being shot," Will finally said and gave her a look, this time his eyes lingering. "This was way worse. At least than I knew where you were and that people were trying to help you. I knew what was happening. This … I didn't know what was happening to you. I didn't know what was going on. No one was telling me anything. They just kept asking me questions that I didn't know the answer to."

"They were trying to find me, Will," Olivia said quietly.

He grabbed at the hair on the side of his head at that and scrunched his face in near agony. "But they weren't telling me anything," he pushed out through gritted teeth, "and they just kept asking me all these things. And they had Noah in another room asking him all these things. … And I spent days … DAYS … not knowing if you were alive or dead. And, I feel like you don't get that. That you don't get how awful that was. And how … now … it's like I'm not supposed to talk about that part of it. Because you're alive. And because compared to what you had to go through … that part of it doesn't matter … right …?"

Olivia gazed at him and Lindstrom saw her eyes growing even more glassy and this time her voice cracked as she spoke.

"You're allowed to feel those things," she said, "and to talk about them. But I do understand how you feel, Will. Because I spent the whole time I was with him not knowing if you were alive or dead either. I didn't know if Noah was tied up in a room with his father's corpse. And I spent the … whole time … begging for my life and begging to get to go back to my family … trying to survive … not knowing what I would be going back to. If you'd be there. So I do know how that feels … in my own way."

Lindstrom let them share a silence after that and let Olivia swipe at the tears that were running down her cheeks. Will's knee had started bouncing where he was sitting.

"It's just another way Lewis added to the mindfuck," Olivia finally said under her breath.

Lindstrom observed him again for a moment and then asked, "Do you think some of the reason you are struggling with talking to each other is out of self-preservation?"

They both gave him a questioning look.

"That you're afraid to think about some of these things – elements of this experience – yourselves, so you aren't sharing it with each other? And that that's hurting your relationship?"

Will shrugged. "I just feel like she doesn't really need me. A lot of times."

"I need you Will," Olivia said in a tone that sounded so hurt that it was clear it was a discussion they'd had several times before.

"It's not just now," Will said. "I've never really felt like you needed me."

"You're wrong," Olivia said quietly but added not further clarification.

Lindstrom looked to Will. "What makes you feel that way?"

"Lots of things."

"Maybe you can give us an example so we can explore that a little bit."

Will shrugged. "Sometimes … a lot of the times … it's like my opinion isn't even considered in a lot of things."

"Like what?" Lindstrom pressed again.

"Her job," Will said flatly.

"It's my life and it's my job and it's my decision," Olivia said sharply. "Lewis wasn't going to take that away from me too."

"And what about my life? My job? My decision?" Will pushed back at her and cast her a look before turning sharply to him. "I got a job offer. Back in Boston. But didn't take it."

"We talked about it and we decided your lives are here," Olivia said.

"And what kind of life do we have here these days?" Will said and his voice cracked and his head fell to examining his feet again.

"We've talked about job offers you've had in other cities before. We weren't in a position to uproot ourselves. We wouldn't have been able to handle it."

"Yeah, we 'talk' about my job." Will looked at her for a moment but then back to him. "But we never really talked about whether she'd go back to her job," Will said. "It was like I wasn't allowed to have an opinion on it. It was just … assumed … that she'd go back."

"And you didn't want Olivia to go back to SVU?"

Will sighed and shrugged. "I don't know. I guess maybe not really. Not after … that."

Lindstrom nodded. "That's likely fair. It must've scared you to have your wife going back into the line of fire … so to speak?"

Will allowed a small nod. "Yeah," he said quietly. "And it's just … hard … because we were … fighting … about her job before. And then it's like … we had the opportunity to talk about it … to make a change … and we didn't …"

"We've made changes," Olivia provided.

Will made another sound and looked at her. "The apartment?" he asked. "I hate the apartment."

Olivia rolled her eyes and shook her head looking at the ceiling but made no comment.

"We have these almost panoramic windows," Will provided and looked back to him. "So we can still see Manhattan. But it feels like they're … the whole apartment … is just mocking what we had."

"What do you miss about what you had?" Lindstrom asked.

Will let out a small laugh. "You know, I've thought about that. That I'm supposed to be mourning that loss. But what did we have before?" he asked and cast Olivia a look. She seemed hurt by the comment. "We were in crisis mode," he provided and kept her eyes. "Noah was sick and we were in crisis mode. Then he got better but it wasn't like we took any downtime and reflection time." Olivia made another small sound at that and looked away and Will found his eyes instead. "So life just got as busy as always again … and now we're in another even worse crisis."

Will looked down to his feet. "We were in a bit of a rough space even before all this," he said quietly. "We were … sort of … arguing about how we wanted to define our lives and manage work and family. Now it's like some of the things we were arguing about are so irrelevant but at the same time it's the exact same discussion but this … awful and … different tone."

"And then it's like in all of this we're going through some sort of role reversal," he continued quietly. "It's like … Liv was always so driven by work and after the assault she wanted to go back to work. It was me that didn't. But now it's me is at work all the time and she's the one doing the banker's hours. And it just feels like so much more is changing too fast and too much and I just miss … so much about what we had and what we did. Even though it was still crisis management. But even then it all feels so out of reach."

"What sort of things do you miss?" Lindstrom tried again even though Will had just laughed the question off minutes before.

Will sighed. "We never go out. We never do things as a family."

"We went out. On Friday," Olivia said.

Will snorted. "To my parents'."

"I suggested a weekend away and you said no," Olivia said.

"You didn't suggest a weekend away. You suggested a weekend in a hotel," Will said.

Lindstrom took the opening to wade a bit more into that – knowing that beyond the difficulties they were having communicating, Olivia had also initiated the joint session as a way to get help guiding them to a sex therapist who might be able to help them as well. Lindstrom wasn't getting the impression that they were in the death throes of their marriage. They were just hurting and struggling, which was something he'd fully expect from a couple who'd endured the experience they'd gone through and the trauma Olivia had.

"Some time to yourselves – not at your parents' and without your son – might be beneficial," he said. "A lot of couples do just resort to a hotel to get some time to themselves. It can be a refreshing and healthy change."

Will made another annoyed noise that made his resistance to trying anything that might entail he and his wife having to share any length of time alone. "And where are we supposed to go for a weekend away?" he spat. "We aren't going to holiday on Long Island anymore …"

"Long Island is a big place," Lindstrom said. He didn't think it was healthy for either of them to eternally feel that had to avoid an entire geographic space and it concerned him that it wasn't just Olivia who was showing apprehension about ever returning to that area.

But Will didn't react to his comment. Lindstrom suspected he was in such a rant at that point that he might've not have even heard it. "Are were supposed to go and wander around some unfamiliar city? That doesn't sound very appealing. And it's winter."

Lindstrom examined him. "There's a lot of local hotels. We are a major city and a tourist destination."

Will just made a sound and looked down at the ground again. Lindstrom gave him a moment again but then continued.

"OK," he finally provided, "for now let's just note that, Will, you'd like to be getting out a bit more and doing some things with your wife or with your family. Maybe things that you've done in the past but don't feel quite as comfortable with doing now. Let's come back to that in a bit. You think about what something either you and Olivia or you as a family could do and we'll discuss it again. But for now let's talk a little bit about some areas Olivia would like to see some work done on."

He looked at her and it took her a moment to realize and meet his eyes. She sputtered for a second and tucked some of her hair behind her ear.

"Ah …" she seemed hesitant, even though they'd already broached the topic and he'd helped her prepare to speak about it with her husband – even though the underlying reason for the visit was to get that referral. "I guess one of the things I really want us to be working on," she said to Will, not him, "is figuring out how … and where and when … we can touch each other again. I'm ready to put more effort into working on that. With you. But I need for you to be willing … and ready … to work on it too."

Will didn't respond so Lindstrom posed another question. "Is that something you think you are ready to work on? Or ready to start working towards?"

Will shrugged. "I don't know," he said quietly.

Lindstrom saw Olivia look down at that. The hurt in her was palpable. "I just … know how much … I like your touch," she said quietly. "I know … how important … it was to me … how much it helped me … when Noah was sick … and after the shooting. Even if it's just a hug. I really need them now. Even though you haven't really seemed to want to give them lately."

"Because it hurts when you push me away," Will said somewhat abruptly but their was a clear sadness in his voice too. "I feel like I trigger you. And that's the last thing I want to be doing."

Olivia's head dropped. "I don't like when you trigger me either …"

Lindstrom held up his hand. "Now is it Will that triggers you or is it other factor? Touch? Movement? Smells? Sound?"

Olivia's eyes were set on the cushion between her and her husband. "It's usually more the touch itself," she said quietly. "Sometimes the movement associated with them."

"That's an important clarification to make, Will," Lindstrom provided. "It isn't you."

"But it's me who's doing the touching … and … moving …" he said.

"It's just … that sometimes my mind doesn't go the right place with these things anymore, Will," Olivia said still quietly and a little defeated. "But I trust you. I wouldn't want to be working on this if I didn't. I know that you aren't purposely trying to hurt me and I want to … learn how to … think about it properly again."

"It's like you're asking me to do something but you don't even know what you want me to do," Will said almost as quietly as her.

"Are you able to express to Will what you want and need from him, Olivia?" Lindstrom asked.

She sighed. "Right now … it's really just … touch. Even if it's just my cheek or my hair. You never touch my hair anymore."

Will sighed again.

"It's all making me feel really unattractive, Will," she said. "That's hard on top of everything else. It just adds to … the insecurity of it all.

"If it's because you don't like my haircut … I really don't like whatever this is …" she said and gestured at the scruff that hugged the man's face.

Will gazed at her at that comment. "I just … thought … that … you cut it that night … I just … didn't think that I was supposed … I thought it might be triggering."

She gazed at him. "Or maybe it's the same as suddenly changing your appearance after being dragged through the mud at a rape trial?" she said with an edge.

Will's eyes blinked at her in a clear indication of tears welling and he looked down. "That's not what I'm doing," he said quietly.

"Then you're hiding your surgical scar," she said.

He glanced up at her but provided no dispute to that suggestion.

"You used to put your hand on my head … stroke my hair … when we hugged. Ever since Noah got sick," she said. "It made me feel comforted. And safe. You don't hold me like that anymore. I miss it."

Will looked at her. It seemed to Lindstrom to be one of the first times the man was really looking at his wife. Their eyes seemed to be communicating with each other but they made no move to have any sort of physical contact in front of him and they sat in silence.

"So one of the reasons Olivia wanted to have you in here today was so we could talk about helping you both with your communication and with re-establishing your physical relationship," Lindstrom provided. "We'd previously talked about getting you both a referral to a sex therapist. How do you feel about that Will?"

"I don't want to see a sex therapist, but if she wants to see a sex therapist, I'll see a sex therapist," Will said flatly.

"You don't feel you're ready to work with a sex therapist or you're opposed to the idea of a sex therapist? Or …?"

Will sighed. "I just … if that's what Olivia wants then I'll go. I just … want us to be … OK."

Lindstrom allowed a small nod. "OK," he said. "That's a positive start. And your current couple's therapist? How do you feel that's going?"

"OK, I guess," Will said.

"He hasn't been participating there," Olivia clarified. "This is actually the most he's said in a month – either at home or at the therapist's."

Lindstrom looked to Will again. "And why's that Will?"

He shrugged but then looked at his wife. "Olivia thought I was thinking about leaving her. I'm not thinking about that. I don't want to leave her and I don't want her to leave me. So if she wants me to talk to you or to talk to a sex therapist or … whatever … I'll do it. Or at least … I'll try."

Lindstrom examined him. It was a starting point. He wasn't sure it was going to be enough to solve all their problems but it would at least give them a foundation to build on for the moment.

"Well, you seem a little unsure about how or if you're ready to move forward, Will. I'm happy to give you a referral. Or I could give you some points to work on at home, and after you've tried them, you could let me know if you want a referral later."

"I don't want anymore exercises," Will said bluntly.

"Why's that?" Lindstrom asked.

"Because they're ridiculous."

"What's ridiculous about them?" he asked.

"Liv said we wouldn't have to talk about our sex lives at this appointment," was all he said.

Lindstrom examined him for a moment but then allowed a small nod. "OK," he agreed. "But, I think you should understand that whether it's a sex therapist or a new couples' therapist that I refer you to there are going to be exercises. There is homework. This kind of therapy – and recovery – Will, doesn't end within these office walls. It's something that needs work from the participants. It's a process."

Will gave a small nod. "Yeah," he said quietly.

Lindstrom gave a glance to Olivia. There was the foundation of commitment there. But the fear and resistance to get over the hump and to move on with their recovery might be a challenge. But at least they'd communicated some.

"OK," Lindstrom said again. "Well … why don't we start with a small assignment for now? Just to get used to the idea of them." Will flared his nostrils but made no comment. So he looked to Olivia. "Olivia, I'd like you to pick something – simple, small – that you'd like Will to either work on or discuss with you prior to your next couple's session."

Olivia thought about it for a moment. Lindstrom was expecting her to ask for more hugs in a day or something touch oriented. But instead she looked at her husband and said, "I'd like use to have a real – not a one-sided conversation – about that facial hair. And, then I'd like for you to shave."

Lindstrom looked to Will. "Do you feel that's something you'll be able to accommodate?"

"Yeah," Will said quietly though he'd gone back to examining his feet.

Lindstrom nodded. "And, what about you, Will? Is there something that you'd like to work on or discuss with Olivia? Something relatively small and simple?"

Will shrugged. "I don't know," he said and Olivia let out a small noise. Her frustration and pain with his participation but non-participation was apparent.

"What about going back to our conversation before," Lindstrom said. "You said you'd like to be able to go out more with your wife or with your family?"

"I don't know what we could do," Will said.

"Well, why don't we pick something that maybe you'd both enjoy doing with your son?" Lindstrom pressed. "Perhaps do something that you used to enjoy in the past but have felt hesitant doing lately?"

"Noah won't do anything anymore. He won't go swimming. He's had no interest in sports at all," Will said.

"Let's pick something that isn't swimming or sports related then," Lindstrom pressed yet again.

Will sighed. "I don't fucking know," he huffed. "The fucking new Lego store thing. Let's go to the fucking Discovery Center."

He looked at Liv and she shrugged. "OK. Let's go," she agreed.

Will looked at the ceiling and sighed like he'd been hoping she'd put up a fight. "We'd have to rent a car or take the train and there'd be crowds."

"Crowds of 7- to 11-year-olds. I think I can handle a train ride and small children, Will," she said.

"Do you think Noah can?" Lindstrom asked.

"I don't know … do you think he can?" Will put back to his wife.

"I think he would, if he was with us," she said. "I think he can get through most things as long as he has us."


	7. The Kitchen

**Title: Therapy**

**Author: ZombieJazz**

**Fandom: Law & Order: SVU**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them. Law and Order SVU and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The characters of Will (and his family) and Noah have been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

**Summary: Olivia talks to her therapist about her husband's reaction to her pregnancy test results and the implications it has for their relationship. A O/S of the therapist office scene in Wednesday's child.**

**Author's Notes: This AU series is for SVU fans and readers who want Olivia to have something that resembles a more normal life outside of work and a family of her own - hopefully somewhat realistically within the canon of SVU. My stories are not EO and never will be. You may want to read some of my other ones for context on the characters in this AU first - though, it's likely fairly self-explanatory on its own too.**

Chalk it up to another thing he hated about the apartment. The kitchen. He'd liked their old kitchen. He supposed he'd thought he'd liked the new kitchen. Or at least he'd liked that his wife seemed to like it. It was modern. It had lots of cupboard space. It had a reasonable amount of counter space. But it was the layout Will hated.

The island counter just made him feel so exposed. There was no privacy. They were on display to whoever was in their dining space or their living room. Usually that was no one more than Noah – and sometimes his parents. But before if they retreated into their kitchen they could exchange looks or whispers mostly unnoticed. They could chat without feeling like their son was watching and listening to them. They could just have some space to be a couple even amid the bustle of their routines. And it was something they took advantage of. They'd often stand in the kitchen in the mornings while they were all trying to get out the door. They'd catch up on the events of the day while the evening meal was prepared. Sometimes they'd even just stand there and talk while they waited for the kettle to boil to have some sort of hot drink in the evening after they got Noah to bed – before they set about on their work they'd brought home to try to get done before the next morning or before they ended up sitting in front of the TV and trying to forget about work for at least a few hours.

It wasn't just that, though. It was that in their old kitchen, Will could lean against the counter and off in a corner and feel like he wasn't in the way. Now he always felt like he was in the way. There was nowhere to lean. Nowhere to hide. He couldn't just stand and watch his wife cook or work or talk to her. He was underfoot and her looks and body language said as much. Even when he offered to help she usually didn't want it. So instead it made him just stay out of the kitchen – and out of the way – when she was in there. It'd been yet another way their interactions had home had been cut down. He wondered if she realized that?

That night, though, he was trying to make the effort. He was staying underfoot and watching her cook despite her body language, despite having to dodge her and her shooting him a dirty look every time she turned to make a move from the stove to sink to counter to fridge to cupboard.

Will still found it strange to watch his wife do the cooking. Or at least do the cooking on a weeknight. That had so much become his job. Most week nights – before – he was the one who'd be home first and who would make a meal for Noah, and technically for her and him, if she managed to get home at a reasonable hour to eat dinner together as a family.

It wasn't that Liv didn't cook before. It was just that she usually reserved those duties for the weekends. She made sure that everyone had something that resembled breakfast in their bellies before they went out the door and that their were lunches packed and in bags being dragged with them. But it was him who did the dinners. Just … not any more.

He knew some of that was because he wasn't home. He kept odd hours. He had to admit – at least internally – that he often avoided being home for a family dinner (at least lately) where they actually had to sit and look at each other and talk to each other. Some nights, anymore, that was just too hard. It'd been hard since May but it had evolved (or he supposed devolved) from hard to just plain awkward since the trial. It had put into stark perspective to him just how fucked up the entire experience had been – in a whole new way that was even more painful than going through it the first time – and just how they didn't know how to talk about any of it. Before not talking about it – talking about it in tiny little compartmentalized pieces and than putting it away to deal with another day that seemed to becoming more and more and more of another day – had been easier. The problem was that now the experience – all of their separate experiences and joint experiences and their interpretations of them and society's (or at least the jury's and judge's and lawyers' and those people in that gallery) perspective of them was on full display and contrasted against their fucking psychopath's dictation of them too. Thinking about any of it – all of it, replaying that trial in his head and the things said and then agonizing about what he'd been through and what his wife had been through and what his son had been through, and then trying not to think about it at all because he just couldn't bear it most days – made him feel a little crazy. So it was easier – just easier – not to be there. Not to have to look them in the eye. Not to have to see their pain too. To try not to think about the things that he couldn't stop thinking about.

So Olivia had picked up the slack in his retreat. Their son had to eat after all. She didn't like feeding him take-out regularly. She liked to carefully regulate everything that went into Noah's body. Sometimes to the point that even Will – who had thought he was far more of a health nut than Olivia had been when they'd met – thought it was absurd.

The transition, though, to Olivia becoming the cook had started before the move. Before the true extent of his retreat into the background. Before he took on extra hours at work. Before he started coming home less predictably. It'd started in the weeks and months following the assault. While they were living with his parents. He wasn't sure if it'd started out of necessity. Of her getting sick of his mother's cooking and how little it resembled what they'd eat in their previous lives. Or if it was with watching daytime TV and the cooking channels and her wanting to try some of the things she saw just to pass time and to find a distraction. Or if maybe it was his mother rubbing off on her and the frenzy of cooking and feeding the family had started to take root in his wife. Or maybe it was some sort of effort to give back to his parents for them having put up with them. Though, he wasn't sure his parents really liked anything that Olivia cooked – not that they'd ever say so.

It wasn't that she cooked strange things. Not to Will anyways. But she wasn't a particularly talented chef. She wasn't particularly bad either. Will had had her in his life long enough that he had a list of dishes that he preferred when she made them. Things that when they were made with her recipe and seasoning just tasted better than when other people made them.

It used to be like that before with more things than cooking. Things – his life – had just been better with the elements that Olivia had added to them.

He hated that he was struggling so much with focusing on that anymore. He needed what she added to his life. He didn't want her to leave him. That would kill him. He already knew how scary and how much it hurt just to see her hurt or to be without her for a few days. He didn't want to think about what his life would look like without her for the rest of his days. But it was so hard to figure out how to get things to work again. It wasn't like before. It never would be. He'd changed – and so had she.

Olivia was making something simple that night. Thai noodles. It didn't even look like she'd resorted to adding any meat. Though, she had some tofu baking in the oven and eggs sitting out on the counter, which he expected would eventually end up amid the vegetables waiting to be tossed into the stir fry. It was something Noah would eat without complaint. Hopefully. That was likely the ultimate goal.

"Are you sure you don't want me to do anything to help?" he offered again. She'd already declined. Twice.

They'd talked after their appointment. Or at least as much as they could in a rather rapid pace walk back to the subway to each make their ways back to their workplaces. She hadn't seemed angry with him but he supposed it had still felt a little strained and distant. But most of their interactions always seemed to feel that way anymore. At least she wasn't angry. He didn't think?

He wouldn't have blamed her if she was. He knew, for a fact, he'd said things she didn't like at the therapist's office. He wasn't sure if he was happy she'd said everything he'd said. But he hadn't really liked a lot of the things she'd been saying to him lately at home. He understood where she was coming from but he also had this nagging feeling that she didn't understand where he was coming from. Maybe it was more that he didn't feel like he was supposed to be coming from anywhere. It was supposed to be about her. It wasn't supposed to be about him. He kept trying not to have feelings about any of it – unless it was about trying to support Olivia. But it wasn't really working and instead he felt like he was failing even more at being there for his wife.

He hadn't really gone into the session planning to say much of anything. He thought he'd likely just kind of sit there and let Liv talk at him and the therapist talk at him and get their referral that she wanted and be on his way. He didn't know if it was because he was running late and he felt flustered or if it was that the prodding or the way Liv and the shrink were looking at him or how Olivia almost contradicted everything he said at the start – but he knew he'd spilled his guts. Not entirely. There was more he could say. A lot more he wanted to say. A lot more he needed to say. But he supposed it was all a lot more than he was ready to say. But it didn't change the fact that inside that shrink's office, he'd said more than he'd meant too.

He'd spent some time after they'd separated, letting it all run through his head again. It had run through his head even more after he got back to his office and he had some quiet time before he had to go to his next lecture. But reflecting on it had been bad. It only made him feel more crazy and he started second-guessing everything he said and stressing about how his wife was interacting with it. What she was thinking? He'd sent her a couple texts to check in because he didn't want her to be pissed. He didn't want to have made things worse. But she'd only sent back short replies.

She always hated when he sent texts at work. At least anymore. Another thing on the list of things that just didn't seem to work that well anymore. Before exchanging a few texts during the day had been a light-hearted reprieve and a necessary evil in co-ordinating their lives – or at least the schedule of their child. But it was yet another not anymore.

She glanced at him and seemed to consider his request a bit more this time. "Do you think Noah will eat a mango salad?" she asked.

He looked at her. It was a strange question. He shrugged and glanced over to where their son more-or-less seem immersed in what was on the television, though he had an action figure hanging off his bottom lip while he stared blankly at the screen.

It occurred to Will that Noah likely shouldn't be watching TV. That he should be helping with dinner or doing schoolwork before they sat down to eat. Or generally doing something more productive with his time than sitting there and looking like a zombie. But Noah looked like a zombie a lot anymore. He supposed they all did. The spark just wasn't there. He missed that spark. They'd been able to keep that spark alive through other hard things but this – this had seemed to extinguish it.

"I don't know," Will said. "Did you ask him?"

She looked back to her wok. "He says he's not hungry." She paused. "He says that every night," she clarified like this was information he didn't know.

"Oh," Will allowed.

He supposed that maybe he didn't really know that. It wasn't like he babysat Noah eating much anymore. That had always been Liv's job.

Her son would only ever eat for her. That's how it had always been – since Noah was a little boy. It'd only gotten worse with cancer. It'd gotten ridiculous after her abduction. Will just didn't have that fight in him. He figured the boy would eat when he was hungry. If he wasn't hungry – he wasn't hungry.

"Will you eat a mango salad?" she asked instead.

He gazed at her and shrugged. "Yeah. I guess."

"Then you can cut up a mango," she said.

He watched her for another moment. He wasn't really sure he liked his assigned task. But he supposed it gave him a reason to be in the kitchen space, so he went to the fridge and found the fruit, pulling out a carrot, red onion with it. He pulled open their drawers checking to see if they had any cilantro or mint or parsley around. They didn't. So it would just have to be what it was. A make-shift salad for a make-shift family eating a make-shift dinner and likely trying to piece together make-shift conversation so they could get on with their night that would likely feel just as awkward as their dinner.

"I'm likely going to have to either work late or go back in tomorrow," she said after he'd already started working on his chopping.

He glanced at her and gave her a small nod. "OK," he said. "That's not a problem. I can be home. Pick him up from school. Whatever you want."

She caught his eyes. "You can actually come if you want." He gave her a questioning look. "It's more of a … chaperone thing. I just want to go check something out. It's a comedy show. That comedian, Josh Golloway. He's giving us four tickets. Nick doesn't want to go. Or is going down to see his daughter. Or something."

She sounded a little pissed off at her partner … or whatever he was now with her new position that Will didn't quite understand how it had affected the work dynamic or the squad organization yet. He wondered why she was pissed? What was going on there? She usually came to Nick's defense if he ever said anything about disliking the guy. But apparently she disliked him tonight too. Not that she'd likely tell him why or what was going on.

"So it's not work?" he asked.

She shrugged. "It is work but it isn't. I want to see his show."

"Josh Golloway?" Will asked and she allowed a small nod. "Isn't he the guy who's whole shtick is rape jokes?"

"Yeah," she allowed.

"That doesn't sound like a great Friday night to me," he said flatly. She just watched him for a moment and then turned back to her concoction without saying anything.

There had been a time when Will had thought he had a good read on Olivia. That he knew her looks. That he knew what her different kinds of silences meant. That he could tell what she was thinking even if she wasn't saying it. There were still some areas that she kept personal – private. Areas that they were still working on peeling away – like layers in an onion. That she was still letting him get to know her just bit by bit. He appreciated that, though. He was a private person too. As much as he shared with Olivia there were pieces of him that he kept to himself too. Things that she didn't need to know. But he thought even though they both internalized, even though they were both private, even though they both had their secrets, that he knew her enough. Could read her enough. She was his wife. His best friend. He knew her. Or at least he had.

He didn't read her so well anymore. So many of her facial expressions and bits of body language and silences felt the same anymore. It was all just hurt. It was all just quiet. It was all just haunted. Or maybe his own pain was clouding how he could see and interpret and interact with hers. Either way, the reality was that he couldn't tell what this particular silence meant. If she was upset with him for saying it sounded like a shitty way to spend a Friday.

"Where is it?" he asked.

"It's a Tompkins Square University event. I think it's at the Comic Strip."

Will made a sound and looked at her again. "And who's going to this with you?"

"Fin and Rollins. And then I have the fourth ticket. I might just … give it away, ask another cop … if you don't want to come."

He eyed her. "And why are you going to this?"

"That's work related," she said flatly.

He did know that was her way of saying drop it. Or at least that she wouldn't be saying anymore no matter what he asked. Olivia only talked about her job – and specific cases – on her terms. Even before her assault, her reference to actual cases had been fleeting – even when he knew through the media exactly what she was working on. Since the assault and her return to the job, she'd said nothing to him about work. Likely because she knew it was a sore point with him. But her not talking about it only made it sorer. Even scarier.

"I don't think I want to go," he provided. What he really hoped it conveyed was that he didn't want her going either. But he'd never had much control over what Olivia did and didn't do. She likely wouldn't be with him if he ever had. Olivia wouldn't tolerate controlling men. Which he thought was somewhat ironic considering she spent her work-life pretty much surrounded by them.

"OK," she allowed and was quiet for a moment but then added, "I think I'll try to come home and go back in then."

"Back into the city?"

"Yeah," she said flatly.

"That's kind of dumb," he commented. Enlightened words. He knew she wouldn't like them. "What time is this thing?"

She shrugged at the stove. "I'd have to look at the ticket. Ten, I think."

"That's late," Will said.

Another shrug. "It's at a club on a Friday night. It's not going to start at seven."

Will let out a small sigh. He didn't like it. In multiple ways. It too many ways that were now racing through his mind. Her being out that late. Her being in the city that late. Her finding her way home after it that late. Her being in a night club. Her being surrounded by people drinking. Her being around a guy who thought rape was a joke. Her being surrounded by men, likely – particularly stupid, drunk college-aged 'men'.

"Just be careful," was all he managed to say, or at least all he managed to allow himself to get out. Even that might've been too much based on the look her gave him.

"I'll be fine," she said pointedly.

"OK …" he allowed quietly and looked back to his cutting, chopping and dicing.

"I'll be with Fin and Rollins," she provided again. "If something's bothering me, I'll leave."

"OK …" he said just as quietly and didn't look at her. He could feel her eyes on the back of his head, though. He couldn't tell if it was a look, a glare, or a drilling gaze. But he could definitely tell they were there and he gave her a small glance over his shoulder.

"Just say what you want to say," she told him bluntly.

He kept his eyes on her – or at least in her direction – though he found his gaze shifting away from hers because it definitely didn't look happy with him or his response to any of this.

"I'm not thinking anything," he lied. "Beyond … just be safe."

She rolled her eyes. "I'll be fine," she near hissed.

"OK …" he allowed again.

"Say what you're thinking," she pressed more sternly that time. "Are you afraid you're going to hurt my feelings? I think we've already crossed that bridge today."

So she was angry. Or at least hurt. Or at the very least slightly peeved at him. At least that much was clear now. But Will wasn't sure he wanted to know that either. Because that wasn't what he wanted at all.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he said with a small twinge in his voice that he hoped he was hiding. He always hated when he was the one hurting her or adding to her hurt. He knew he was playing that role a lot anymore. It was something he wanted for the person he loved.

But she just shrugged. "I want us to talk," Olivia said. "You're going to say things that are hard for me to hear. I'll say things that are hard for you to hear. It's part of getting through this. So you can start by saying what you're thinking right now, because your body language is telling quite the story, Will."

He sighed. He hated that she was better at reading his body language than he was at reading hers anymore. Though, he supposed in some ways he was more of an open book than her. He'd always worn his heart on his sleeve a little more than her. He put himself out there a bit more than her. Sometimes it felt like he was always the one putting himself out there a bit more than her. Every goddamn step of the way in their relationship that no matter how he looked at it, it had always looked like work. It had never been easy. Now he knew it never would be. He hated all that. But he forced himself to repeat that the only reason that she could read his body language better than he read hers at the moment was that its what she did. It was what she'd been trained to do. It was what she spent her life doing. He didn't want to read anymore into it than that. He wouldn't let himself. Or else he might let himself get angry.

"OK …" he said and stopped himself mid-syllable realizing it was the phrasing he'd been using passive aggressively already. He sighed. "I'm not thrilled you're going," he put bluntly.

"I can tell," Olivia responded. "Want to tell me why?"

He shrugged. "I think you know why."

"I'm asking you to tell me why," she pushed back.

"Do you want a list?" he said.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Yes, Will, I do." The sarcasm and how unimpressed she was with him that moment dripped from her.

"It's late. It's at a bar. It will be crowded. There will be drinking. There will be young, drunk, obnoxious, young men – who are feeding off of a guy who thinks rape jokes are funny. I don't think any of that is going to sit with you very well."

"Fin and Rollins will be with me," she said yet again. "It will be fine."

"OK," he said growing annoyed and turning back to his salad. "That's another thing. Apparently you can go to a work thing that's not a work thing on a Friday night in the city but that's not something we can do."

Her eyes were beating against the back of his head again. "One," she said, "it is a work thing. And, two, I just invited you go come. You said you didn't want to."

"What would he do with Noah?" he spat out harshly to the point that their son glanced over at him and caught his eyes. Now clearly listening to see why they were talking about him.

Olivia just glared at him, though. Now giving him her full attention. "You want a list?" she repeated back to him sarcastically. "Call your parents. Take him over to your parents. See if Rob's working. Take him over to his station house for a few hours. There's lots of options, Will. If you want to come, come."

"I don't want to come," he said.

"Fine," she said and turned back to the stove. "Then stop whining about it."

"How come when I ask to do things in the city you don't want to?" he pressed back, though. Now he was the one glaring at the back of her head.

She spun back around and glared back at him just as sharply. "I agreed to do that …", she hushed to a whisper, "… Lego thing with you just today." It wasn't quiet enough. Will saw Noah's head perk up again and could feel his ears straining to hear their none-too-quiet conversation above the television noise and in plain sight of him in their unencumbered kitchen.

"I meant something that's just us," he said.

Her eyes nearly rolled again. He could tell she'd had to force herself to keep them in check. "You could've picked whatever you wanted," she said. "Just us. You picked that …" she said with a gesture off into the living room. He wasn't sure if she was gesturing at Noah or what.

"You never say yes when I ask to do something that's us," he argued back.

She did glare at him with drill bits that time. "When's the last time you asked to do something, Will?" she pressed. "I asked last week and … we ended up above your brother's garage with Chef Wong."

"You wouldn't agree to do anything in the city," he said.

"You haven't asked me to do anything in the city," she said in a voice that was clear she wanted to yell it at him but had restrained herself because their son was sitting right there. "I've asked to go to a hockey game, a basketball game. Take me out to fuc …" she trialed off again. "Dinner. A movie. The park. A walk. I don't care. Out. Something."

"You wouldn't enjoy any of that anymore," he said.

She snorted and glared at him. Her eyes were on fire. "I've been repeatedly telling you lately that I'm sick of living like …" that gesture at the vast open-concept that was their apartment. An oversized box. "This."

"Oh, so the solution is to go to some rape show with Fin and Amanda?" he spat.

"Yeah, I guess so, Will," she said with that sarcasm again. "That's exactly what this is."

He knew it wasn't. He knew that it was about work. He knew that she'd given him the opportunity to be there to. To give her support at it. But he'd just turned it down. And now he was turning on her. But sometimes it was so hard to stop himself anymore. His emotions betrayed him. The rationalization behind anything just seemed to fleeting. It all just felt like this sting that kept stinging – strike after strike of the scorpion's tail.

He looked at the ground. He was starting to feel embarrassed. He was feeling guilty – for how he was treating her, for how he was reacting. But his heart was pounding in his chest. He knew his blood pressure at the whole idea of it had gone up. He could feel in the throbbing of his eardrums and the tension building in his head. He'd have another headache that night. And right now he wasn't going to be able to blame it on the stress of the therapy session or the chaos of his workday. It was all on him and his reaction to this. Letting his emotions and irrational thoughts get the best of him.

He let out a slow sigh and gave her a glance from his downcast gaze. He could tell she was still seething about the way the conversation had gone.

He shook his head and allowed far too quietly, "It makes me feel like you think you're safe with them. But not with me. Like you don't need me."

He hated that he kept saying that. It made him sound needy, he thought. But it was a reality. It wasn't like Olivia had ever really needed him. Or at least that's the way he felt sometimes even when he stopped and thought about it and knew both he and she could come up with a long list of examples of times she'd needed him whether she wanted to admit it or not. Maybe that was the problem. He felt like most of the time she didn't want to admit she needed him. And why would she need him? Or feel the need to admit it? She was an incredibly independent woman. He'd known that from the get. She didn't need him. Sometimes he felt like an accessory – and not a very good one at that. One that usually got left at home.

She rubbed her eyebrow at that. Her eyes softened slightly but she also still seemed slightly annoyed.

"Will, it's work," she said more evenly. "That's why I'm going with them. And, we already talked about the other part today. I do need you. I asked you to come. I respect that you aren't interested in going, or don't feel comfortable going. But I need to go."

He sighed. "But you feel safe with them. Like they can protect you."

"I can't keep being afraid of every possible situation, Will," she said. "I need to start seeing what I can handle and learning how to handle situations I'm not entirely comfortable in. It's not about whether I feel safe or protected by them. I shouldn't need to at this anyways. It's a controlled situations. It's a university comedy event. I might not like the comedic content or the venue. But it's going to be fine. I'll be fine."

"You always say you're fine," Will said and cast her a look. "And, you're not."

"You usually know when I'm not," she put back to him. "And I'm working on being more direct with you when I'm not too."

He shook his head and looked down more. "I just mean … I makes me feel like … I can't protect you."

She made you a small sound that sounded slightly annoyed. "Then come," she said. "Be my protector."

It sounded so facetious. Like she hated the concept that she needed a protector – and that even if she did that it could be him.

Will shrugged. "I'm not a very good protector," he said quietly and cast her another look.

Her eyes really had softened at that and she was gazing at him silently. He could read her face that time. He could see at least the sadness and concern there.

"You are," she put back to him softly and far more calmly than she'd sounded for several minutes.

"I just … I feel like I've failed you," he said. He was vomiting out his thoughts and emotions again and he hated it. But it almost felt like a flood gate had been forced open that afternoon and now he was having trouble keeping it inside. It was all just jumping in him – overwhelming his thoughts and mind. "I'm failing you."

Olivia let out a small sigh. "Will, we're just in a rough patch. We just have to keep working at it. You aren't failing me. I know you're trying now. That you want to try."

"It's not that," he said. "It's … not even just with … Lewis," he said more quietly with another glance to where Noah was sitting. "It's all of it. I always have failed you guys. Noah getting sick. You being shot. Everything."

"Will, those two examples are two times you definitely did not fail us," she said. "You were there for us. You were there for me. You're a key factor in what got us through it."

"But I couldn't protect you from it," he said. "It's like … I can't protect you from anything in this world. And … it's just …" He shook his head hard, trying to calm his thoughts. "It's eating me up," he admitted.

"You can't protect us from the world. From life. Things happen, Will. We just have to … deal with them."

He sighed hard. "You shouldn't have to deal with it. Neither should Noah," he said.

Olivia shrugged. "But we will," she countered. "And it's not your fault," she said her voice cracking a bit. "So stop feeling like that. If anything, you can blame me. I'm the one who brought all of this into your and Noah's lives."

He shook his head. "I don't blame you," he said and his own voice betrayed him. "It's not your fault."

He went back to staring at the ground. But it was mostly because he felt the tears coming on and before he could reach up and keep them at bay, one had managed to slip out and drip off his face and to the ground. He wiped more madly at his face at that. But before he'd managed to rid himself of them, to choke them back in, his wife was there and her thumbs had come to his face and swiped them for him and then her arms wrapped around him.

Will stood still for a moment. He felt stiff in the embrace. The standing hug felt so odd and he realized that he wasn't sure the last time they'd hugged in that manner. They'd leaned against each other on the couch and in bed. They'd draped arms around each other or across shoulders and held the other in that manner. But they hadn't embraced. Not like this – and for a moment it felt strange until his body screamed at him how much he'd been missing it. And, he wondered if it had been him who'd been denying them that – or her. Still, his arms came up and returned the grip around her. She felt thinner than his body remembered. His arms seemed to go around her further and against themselves more. Somehow that made him a little sad too. What else had he been missing with how wrapped up in his own head he was?

"You're going to be OK," she told in him a line that was usually his own. "We're going to be OK."

"I miss you," he said in response.

She looked up at him from where her head had found his shoulder. "I'm right here," she said. "There's nothing to miss."

He knew they both knew that was a lie. There was so much to miss – in so many ways. But instead of arguing that point, he just corrected himself.

"I want to figure out how to reconnect too," he said. "I just … I don't know how. And I won't want to hurt you or to make things worse."

She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder again and ran her hand up and down his back.

"We may hurt each other a bit along the way, Will," she said. "But it's part of the process and it's not going to make things any worse. It's fine. I trust you. Just trust me. We're going to be fine."

"Yeah," he said quietly and in very weak agreement. He believed her but he didn't at the same time.

Still, he kept holding her and he felt his hand moving up until it found a spot in her hair and cupped the back of her head. Holding her the way she had said at the session she'd previously found great comfort in and had been missing. She felt her relax against him but then also felt a small smile growing against his shoulder.

"Are you rubbing your mango hands into my hair?" she teased gently.

He smiled a little against the top of her head at that suggestion. "I guess I am," he agreed. "I'm sure there must be some sort of holistic conditioning value to mango pulp."

"Hmm," she mumbled against him. "I'm sure …"

He continued to hold her – partially because she didn't seem to be moving and partially because it just felt good. He could feel another set of eyes on them again and glanced over at the couch again to see Noah looking at them and gave him a small smile too. The little boy almost smiled back at him and their son so rarely smiled anymore. His boy language seemed calmer just looking at them too. Maybe he'd some how been missing the hugs too. He likely needed a few of his own too. Will would have to start working on that later that night.

"I guess this means we should keep going to therapy or get the referral … or whatever …" he said after a while.

He could feel her smile against him a bit. "I don't think it was a bad place to start," she said. "You've said more to me today than you have in a month. And whatever the session fee was, it's worth it for this," she added and gripped him a little more tightly.


	8. The Homework Assignment

**Title: Therapy**

**Author: ZombieJazz**

**Fandom: Law & Order: SVU**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them. Law and Order SVU and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The characters of Will (and his family) and Noah have been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

**Summary: Olivia talks to her therapist about her husband's reaction to her pregnancy test results and the implications it has for their relationship. A O/S of the therapist office scene in Wednesday's child.**

**Author's Notes: This AU series is for SVU fans and readers who want Olivia to have something that resembles a more normal life outside of work and a family of her own - hopefully somewhat realistically within the canon of SVU. My stories are not EO and never will be. You may want to read some of my other ones for context on the characters in this AU first - though, it's likely fairly self-explanatory on its own too.**

Noah slammed down his pencil and glared at her. "I AM NOT DOING THIS NO MORE!" he yelled at her.

Olivia drilled into his eyes. "You don't raise your voice to me, Noah," she said sternly. "I'm your mother. You don't talk to me like that."

He sulked and flopped his forehead against his hand and glared at his homework in front of him. "I hate math," he said. "It's stupid."

She looked at the top of his downcast head. "Those are two words we don't use in this house either, sweets," she said a bit more gently and pulled the assignment a bit closer to her to take a look at. She flipped through the pages and let out her own small sigh. "Com'on," she said, though. "There's only two more pages."

"Two and a half," Noah muttered at her.

She shrugged. "OK, well, two and a half. Let's get it done."

"I don't want to," Noah pouted.

"I know you don't want to," she conceded. "But you have to."

The reality was that she didn't really want to either. She didn't mind helping her son with most of his homework. She could sit there and help him with his reading and his writing. She could apply that to his sciences and social studies work. She didn't mind coaching him through some of his projects and or helping him come up with ideas or decorations. She was good at all of that. She knew how to manage all of that and motivate him and even how to teach and guide him. But when it came to fourth grade math? Well, she got just as frustrated as him.

She knew it shouldn't be this hard for her. It was math questions designed for nine and ten-year-old kids. But math had either gotten a lot more sophisticated since she was a kid or she'd gotten a whole lot dumber about it. What she did know was that if Noah couldn't figure out how to answer the question on his own she sat there with a pencil and paper – erasing madly – for about as long as him (sometimes longer) trying to come up with an answer. And, even when she did manage to come up with an answer she rarely could figure out how to explain to him how she'd reached it. Sometimes she didn't even really know how she managed to get it. What she did know was that most of the time she wanted to reach for a calculator just as much as him.

It was made all the more frustrating because she knew that Will could barely glance at the questions and know the answer. Not to mention his ability to explain this stuff to Noah was pristine. He could explain it in ways that even she could understand it. He knew how to teach there son to do it so he could actually apply it and do it himself later. Or at least that he could eventually get to being able to do it himself. But Will wasn't there that night – and he hadn't really been there much for math help since January. So Olivia had been trying to fill in. Noah was apparently just as frustrated with that situation as she was.

"I'll do it when Dad gets home," Noah said. "You don't know what you're doing."

He'd said it so flatly and it wasn't even looking at her. But it still struck her. He wasn't exactly calling her stupid but it still hurt. She wasn't sure it was his observation that she was failing – the fact that he knew that she was struggling. Or it was that he so clearly wanted his father more than her in that moment and she couldn't provide that. But it hurt.

She sat back in her chair a bit looked at him. He was rubbing his eraser over yet another answer that they'd tried to work out and hadn't been able to. They'd been sitting there for an hour and they'd barely made it through half a page. She wasn't sure they were realistically going to be able to make it through the remaining two-and-a-half pages. Not if she wanted him to have anything that resembled a childhood and a break before she was starting to hustle him to bed. That hurt too. She hated spending so much time with him doing homework at night. She valued education. She knew her son was smart. She had so many high hopes for him. But so much of that had been dashed and now so many of her priorities had shifted. Spending endless hours doing homework in a week just seemed like such a waste of precious time no matter how much she wanted her son to be educated.

"You're going to do it now, Noah," she finally managed to say and to do it as emotionlessly as possible. "Daddy's not going to be home until late."

"He's always home late," Noah mumbled.

Olivia sighed and rubbed her eyebrow. "He's been trying to come home on time lately. But he has a class tonight. He's teaching."

"No he's not," Noah spat and glared at her. "There's no school at night."

She met his eyes again. He could be so mouthy lately and she knew she was struggling with managing it. Before she never would've let him talk to her – or anyone else – that way. Now she often couldn't bring herself to discipline him. Not in the way she used to. She knew how much he was hurting. She knew how much anger and rage was in him. She so didn't want any of it directed at her yet so much of it did end up being sent her way. What she really wanted was just to have her little boy back and for him to be happy and smiley and stable again. Some days that seemed so far out of reach – especially when he grew frustrated with something. And there was so much to be frustrated about anymore.

"Watch your tone, Noah," she said firmly again. "And, yes, there is school at night when you get into college and university."

Noah huffed at her and looked at the homework again. "I'm never taking school at night," he said.

She allowed a small smile at that. "You might feel differently about that by the time you're in college."

"No I won't," he said and scribbled an answer on to the sheet.

She pulled it back over to her and looked at it. He'd just randomly written down 438. She looked at him.

"Do you think that's the right answer?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said in a voice she knew he was near tears. He was so tired and so frustrated at that point. "I don't know how to do it."

She nodded. "OK. Well, let's read it again and look at the examples again – and then we'll try to figure out the answers again," she said and took her own eraser to work on his dark, heavy-handed numbering.

"Dad's better," Noah put back to her again. "He's a professor."

She looked at him again. "Dad is not here right now. So I am helping you, Noah. That's enough for that. I don't want to hear anymore of it. You're hurting my feelings."

Noah examined her at that and seemed to really consider it. Consider it really with too much depth for a nine-year-old. Watching him process her statement actually almost hurt more than him telling her how much she sucked at math and how much he just wanted his Daddy. Some things Daddy just made better faster and easier than her. But Daddy just wasn't that available right now. He was hurting too much too.

Olivia really didn't want either of her boys to hurt. She just wanted her family to be whole again. And for all the little steps they took towards that some days it just felt like they were so far away from that ever being a reality again.

"Sorry Mom," Noah said softly and gave her his deep puppy dog eyes. He really was sorry. She could tell. He didn't want to hurt her. He hadn't meant to. It wasn't his intention. There was just so much stirring inside him anymore too. Even with all the help they were getting him, he was still learning how to manage any of it. And just like so many other things, it seemed like he was so far away from being able to and that all the therapy hadn't come close to doing enough to help her baby. That William Lewis had scarred her child for life in a way that struck her to the very core and for which she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to forgive herself.

"I know, Noah," she said. She sighed and kept her eyes with him. "Sweets, I know things haven't been that nice around here lately and you miss Daddy. But Daddy and I are working really hard right now to make them better. Things are going to get better. I promise you."

Her little boy gazed at her silently for what felt like an eternity. "You guys are hugging. That's good right?" he finally asked.

She gave him a small smile and a little nod. "It is good," she agreed. "It's very good." But, in reality, it pained her to know that her and Will's division had become so apparent that even their child had noticed they hadn't been hugging. It was that stark to him.

Noah just looked at her again. Took her in again. "Is Dad mad at us?" he asked finally.

Olivia felt tears sting the back of her eyes at that and quickly shook her head and reached out to find her son's hand. "No, Noah. Daddy is not mad at us." She sighed. This was going to take her conversations with Will to a different level. Their son couldn't be thinking there was any sort of anger going on between them. But it was even worse for him to fear that Will was mad at him in some way. "Daddy loves you very much," she said. "He loves both of us very much."

"Then how come he doesn't come home and play and help with homework anymore?"

Olivia let out a slow breath and rubbed her thumb across the top of her son's hand. "Daddy really is trying to be home more lately, sweets. He really is – and he really does have a class to teach tonight. But …" she paused and tried to collect her thoughts. Sometimes – all the time – talking to her son about any of this had been really hard. She knew they hadn't been managing it as well as they should. Sometimes she could just erase it all for him – like he was doing on that paper. That she could just make what happened disappear. "The trial," she finally said softly but looking directly at her son and he seemed to sense it was hard for her to say and his little hand gripped at hers more. "That was hard, right?"

Noah nodded. "Because the bad man was there," he agreed. "And they asked lots of questions about what he did."

Olivia nodded. "Yes, and that was really hard. It made me very sad and it made me very angry too," she said.

Noah nodded harder. "And it made everyone cry. Even Popa cried."

Olivia sucked in the lump in her throat and nodded in agreement. She didn't want to think about the trial. She didn't want to think about what her family had been put through and what her family had to hear. She didn't want to think about her son on the stand. She didn't want to think about Lewis screaming in his face or the feeling of his salvia hitting her – spraying against her – again.

"He did," she managed to agree. "And, all of that made Daddy really sad. Just like all of us. It made him remember things and feel differently than before. It made me feel all kinds of things too. Just like you, right?"

Noah nodded. "I didn't like the trial, Mommy," he said.

She shook her head. "Neither did I, sweetheart. But it meant that the bad man went to jail."

"Popa says he didn't go to jail for long enough."

She gave him a thin smile. "But he went to jail. So we're safe now – and everyone else that he might've hurt is safe now too. And us talking to the judge about what happened let us help make sure other people were safe. So that's good, right?"

"Yeah," Noah said quietly but she could feel his uncertainness. She understood it. Sometimes she felt the same uncertainness. She wasn't sure any of it was worth it. Especially when he hadn't gone away for everything. Especially when she'd never forget – and neither would her husband or son. They'd be carrying that with them for the rest of their lives.

"Yeah," she nodded. "But sometimes thinking about it all is hard, isn't it?" She saw the way he was looking at her. The look told her more than she needed to know. They hadn't been talking about any of this very well with him lately. They hadn't been giving him enough opportunity to talk or to feel. They'd been struggling so much in their own emotions – their own mess – that they hadn't been giving their son the outlets he needed to cope. They'd just been sending him to therapy and hoping that would be enough. That's all they'd been doing since January because her and Will were barely coping on their own.

She held his hand a little tighter and gave him a small smile. "Sometimes when thinking about something is hard and we don't like the things it makes it us remember or the way it feels – we think it's easier if we just bottle it all up and not talk about it. But that's not a very good way to deal with things, Noah. It's a really bad way to deal with feelings and hurt. But Daddy and I … we forgot that for a little while too. So we're working on talking about our feelings again now and dealing with them. And, you're allowed to be talking about your feelings too, sweets. You're still allowed to be angry and scared and sad. And you're allowed to tell people that's how you feel."

He gazed at her. "I don't like feeling angry and scared and sad, Mommy," he said.

She nodded. "I know, sweetheart. I don't like feeling that way either. That's why we need to all do better at talking. It will help us not feel those things quite as much. We'll learn how to deal with those feelings."

Noah looked down at his homework again and fingered at the corner of the one page. "Sometimes doing school stuff is hard when I feel stuff, Mom," he said. "Sometimes I don't like the other kids too."

Him saying it broke her heart a little bit more. Her son used to be so good at school. He may not have had the most friends. His cancer might've left him on the outskirts. But academically – he'd always been strong. He'd always been bright. But now? She knew even from the amount of homework he was brining home – from the endless comments from his teacher and from the phone calls home – he just wasn't doing his work in class. He wasn't concentrating.

But she made herself nod. "I know, sweets," she allowed. "But school is really important too. To me and to Daddy. And you're so smart. So it's important that you try your best and that you listen in class and you do your homework."

The look he gave her was more sad than a pout but the message was the same. He was done for the night. He wanted to get to go and play with his Lego and watch some television and then go to bed. She suspected that night he was going to want to crawl into her bed – and that he'd end up sprawled all over Will, seeking the attention he'd so clearly been missing and craving.

She allowed a little sigh but tapped on the page. "I want us to finish this page tonight, Noah," she said. "But we're going to have to get you caught up on the weekend. You can't get behind."

He looked at the page and let out a sad sound. "I don't know how," he whined in that near tears voice again. "I really don't Mom. I don't know how."

She nodded. "I know. So we're going to read the examples again and we're going to try again. We only have five more questions on this page Noah."

She saw the tear trickle down his face and it dropped and splattered onto the page. He reached and wiped it away and she again found his hand and rubbed her thumb across the top of it and then reached and brushed his awkward bangs back from his face and gave him a small smile.

"Don't cry, sweets," she said softly. "We can figure it out together."

"We aren't smart like Daddy," he said quietly.

She nodded. "Noah. We are just as smart as Daddy. The two of us together are even smarter than Daddy."

He shook his head. "Daddy knows lots about math."

"He does," she said. "But you and I know lots about all kinds of other things – and I know if we put our heads together we can figure out these lousy math problems. So com'on, let's finish up."

Noah just sniffled and swiped at his eyes and she sat watching him. Waiting for some sign that he was ready to continue. That if she read the examples out loud with him again that he'd actually be listening and following along and not just sitting there in tears waiting for her to figure out how to do it all for him.

She let out a little sigh and looked at him. She was going to break another one of her parenting rules that had been bent so much since Lewis. Bent even more than she'd ever been willing to bend them while her son had had cancer. But things were different now. Motivations and distractions and things to look forward to had become a standard staple in their lives but none of them ever really seemed to be enough to provide the kind of relief that any of them needed.

"OK, sweets, how about this – if we get through this page tonight and we have you all caught up on your math homework before Friday – on the weekend, you can get a new Lego set?"

He looked up at her and eyed her. He was clearly weighing that statement. He undoubtedly knew it was a bribe. It wasn't even a very good one. It was too vague. Her son would want more details.

"Do I have to use my allowance?" he asked cautiously.

She shook her head. "No. Mommy and Daddy will buy it for you. But there will be a price limit."

He squinted a bit at that. "How much?" he asked.

She gave him a small smile and "Hmm…" she thought about it. "Twenty-five dollars."

"So does that mean I can get two or three if I get cheap ones?"

She smiled more at that and shook her head. "No, Noah. One Lego set. The most expensive it can be is $25. Or it can be anything less than $25."

He looked like he was considering that.

"Sounds like a good deal to me," Olivia pressed him. "How many weeks allowance is $25?"

Noah thought about that. "Twenty five divided by nine," he said.

"So how many weeks is that?"

He looked at the ceiling and counted on his fingers. "Almost three. Two and some days," he said.

She nodded. "Only me and Daddy don't give you by days. So you'd have to wait three weeks to be able to afford a $25 Lego set. That's almost a month."

"Yeah. But I have $25 in my bank," he said.

She shrugged. "Well, if you do this deal that $25 will still be in your bank and you'll have a new Lego set. Considering it sounds like you know how to do math pretty good, this might be a deal to get on-board with, Noah."

He looked at her and thought about it some more. "What happens if I don't finish?" he asked.

"I'm going to be upset with you tonight and your teacher won't likely be very happy with you at school tomorrow either," she said and gave him a look.

Noah sighed. "What if I don't get the rest done by the weekend?"

"You will," she said. "Daddy can't help you tonight but he will help you tomorrow night."

He still needed to think about it. Her son was a bit of a negotiator. Sometimes she sort of liked it. Though, in that moment she'd prefer they just got back to the homework because she'd really like to be done and cuddling on the touch with him watching old 1960s Batman episodes too.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

She nodded. "I am sure."

He thought another beat. "Do I get to go to the Lego store or the toy store to pick?"

She rubbed her eyebrow and weighed how to answer that. She probably should've waited until Will was there to talk about this with him too. But she did want to give him time to acclimatize to the idea – and they were running out of days for that. She thought that Will would get over it. She hoped.

"Daddy and I were actually talking about taking you to the Lego Discovery Center this weekend," she said. "So you'd get to pick there."

Noah squinted in some thought at that. "What's that? The Lego store?"

She nodded. "It's sort of like the Lego store but it's got some rides and games and a movie theater. Some fun things to do," she said. "You'll get to build things and see some pretty neat sets already built."

"You get to build things?" Noah asked excitedly. "Like what?"

"Hmm," she considered that and wracked her brain trying to remember what all the website had said. "I think race cars and towers. Maybe other things."

Noah's eyes lit up a bit at that. The most she'd seen them light up in a while. But then they darkened. "Wait …" he said, "Will Dad come?"

She nodded. "Yes, sweets. Dad is going to come. It's Daddy who suggested we go."

There was some clear disbelief in his eyes at that. It told her too much about how poorly her and Will had been managing things. Olivia knew she'd been trying to convince herself that their son hadn't really noticed how much tension there had been between her and Will. She'd even more thoroughly been trying to convince herself that Noah was oblivious to Will's absence. That she was enough for him. That it didn't really matter who was home as long as someone was there with him. But his comments that evening showed her just how much she'd been fooling herself.

"He said he'd come?" Noah clarified.

She nodded again. "Yes, Noah. Daddy said he's going to come."

He thought for another moment – seeming to weigh whether or not he was going to accept that. Deciding if he was remotely excited about this idea at all. Olivia really wanted him to be excited. She wanted him to have something to look forward to to get him through this week. She wanted them to be able to do something as a family together outside of the apartment. She just wanted something normal. Something that remotely resembled the times they'd spent together before. Though, this was a little more sophisticated than what most of their previous Saturday afternoons might've looked like. But at least it was a start. A step forward for them to build on.

"I don't want to go the movie," Noah said finally. "It will be dark."

She couldn't even remember the last time they'd been to a movie. But it was definitely before Lewis.

"We don't have to see the movie there if you don't want to, sweets," she assured him.

He thought about it some more. "Are the rides in the dark?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, sweetheart. We'll have to ask when we're there."

"Do they tie you up?"

Her heart broke again and her eyes stung. She despised that the dark was something that scared him now. But it hurt even more to know that what would be little more than a seatbelt in all likelihood now constituted being tied up by her son. And, she knew he'd never agree to that.

"The rides will likely have some sort of safety harness," she allowed. "A bar or a seatbelt."

"Then I don't want to go on the rides," Noah told her firmly.

She nodded. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do, Noah."

He looked at her some more and then looked back at his homework. "But I still can build things and pick a Lego set?" he clarified.

She nodded again and again reached for his hands. "You can. And there will be other things to do there besides the rides and the movie, Noah. We'll do whatever you feel comfortable with."

He tapped his eraser against the worksheet some more and then looked back up to her. "Maybe we should tell Popa to come," he suggested.

She examined him at that suggestion. Noah had become very dependent on his grandfather since the assault. They'd had a bond before but what had developed in the past months was different.

"Would you like Popa to come?" she asked.

"Well, he tells Dad to stop being grouchy when he's grouchy," Noah said.

Olivia allowed a small smile at that. "He does. Sometimes Daddy even listens."

"And he's our bodyguard, Mom. He says so. So that way you won't have to be scared when we're there."

"I won't be scared when we're there," she assured him but then looked at him more closely. "Will you be?"

Noah shook his head. "Not if we bring Popa."


End file.
